“The Kel-Fadê have never penetrated hither,” she answered, gazing away to where the purple flush was dying away on the misty horizon. “In three days—if Allah showeth us favour—we shall reach the rocky valley wherein my people are encamped. Ana fíkalák hatta athab ila honâk.” (“I am very anxious to get there.”)
“But for what reason are thy people so many weeks’ journey from their own country?” I asked.
Moving uneasily among her cushions, she contemplated the end of her cigarette. Apparently it was a question which she did not care to answer, for she disregarded it, exclaiming grimly, “I wonder if the occupant of the secret chamber will discover the means of exit?”
“Suppose he faileth? What then?”
“He will share the fate that hath befallen others immured there,” she answered, raising her arched brows slightly.
“Immured there by thee?” I hazarded, smiling.
“No,” she replied, with a musical laugh. “Thou must not judge me with such harshness, even though my life hath become embittered by captivity in the harem of a monster I hated.”
Suddenly I recollected the strange recovery of my mysterious talisman, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, which was now reposing safely in its case within one of the bags beneath me. Evidently it had been hidden with other booty taken from the caravan with which I had travelled by some one who had regarded it with curiosity.
“Is the existence of that hidden prison known to anyone besides thyself?” I inquired.
“Why askest thou that question? Art thou afraid my lord will escape ere we reach a place of safety?” she exclaimed, with a low, rippling laugh.