great value as though it were of no worth--is it not the
Great Lesson?" He said it with such an air of sincerity, with such
dissimulation, that, for the moment, David was deceived. There was,
however, on the face of the listening Kaid a curious, cynical smile. He
had heard all, and he knew the sardonic meaning behind Nahoum's words.

Fat High Pasha, the Chief Chamberlain, the corrupt and corruptible,
intervened. "It is not so hard to be careless when care would be
useless," he said, with a chuckle. "When the khamsin blows the
dust-storms upon the caravan, the camel-driver hath no care for his
camels. 'Malaish!' he says, and buries his face in his yelek."

"Life is beautiful and so difficult--to save," observed Nahoum, in
a tone meant to tempt David on one hand and to reach the ears of the
notorious Achmet Pasha, whose extortions, cruelties, and taxations had
built his master's palaces, bribed his harem, given him money to pay
the interest on his European loans, and made himself the richest man in
Egypt, whose spies were everywhere, whose shadow was across every man's
path. Kaid might slay, might toss a pasha or a slave into the Nile now
and then, might invite a Bey to visit him, and stroke his beard and call
him brother and put diamond-dust in the coffee he drank, so that he
died before two suns came and went again, "of inflammation and a natural
death"; but he, Achmet Pasha, was the dark Inquisitor who tortured every
day, for whose death all men prayed, and whom some would have slain, but
that another worse than himself might succeed him.

At Nahoum's words the dusky brown of Achmet's face turned as black as
the sudden dilation of the pupil of an eye deepens its hue, and he said
with a guttural accent:

"Every man hath a time to die."

"But not his own time," answered Nahoum maliciously.

"It would appear that in Egypt he hath not always the choice of the
fashion or the time," remarked David calmly. He had read the malice
behind their words, and there had flashed into his own mind tales told
him, with every circumstance of accuracy, of deaths within and without
the Palace. Also he was now aware that Nahoum had mocked him. He was
concerned to make it clear that he was not wholly beguiled.

"Is there, then, for a man choice of fashion or time in England,
effendi?" asked Nahoum, with assumed innocence.

"In England it is a matter between the Giver and Taker of life and
himself--save where murder does its work," s