innocence; he ostentatiously waved the cigarette smoke
away with the hand on which was the ring the Khedive had given him.

"Thy tongue is as the light of a star," said the bright-eyed
Sheikh-el-beled; "wisdom dwelleth with thee." The woman took no notice
of what they said. Her face showed no sign of what she thought; her eyes
were unwaveringly fixed on the distance.

"She shall choose her own death," said the Sheikhel-beled; "and I will
bear word to the Mudir."

"I dine with the Mudir to-night; I will carry the word," said Dicky;
"and the death that the woman shall die will be the death he will
choose."

The woman's eyes came like lightning from the distance, and fastened
upon his face. Then he said, with the back of his hand to his mouth to
hide a yawn:

"The manner of her death will please the Mudir. It must please him."

"What death does this vulture among women choose to die?" said the
Sheikh-el-beled.

Her answer could scarcely be heard in the roar and the riot surrounding
the hut.

A half-hour later Dicky entered the room where the Mudir sat on
his divan drinking his coffee. The great man looked up in angry
astonishment--for Dicky had come unannounced-and his fat hands twitched
on his breast, where they had been folded. His sallow face turned a
little green. Dicky made no salutation.

"Dog of an infidel!" said the Mudir under his breath.

Dicky heard, but did no more than fasten his eyes upon the Mudir for a
moment.

"Your business?" asked the Mudir.

"The business of the Khedive," answered Dicky, and his riding-whip
tapped his leggings. "I have come about the English girl." As he said
this, he lighted a cigarette slowly, looking, as it were casually, into
the Mudir's eyes.

The Mudir's hand ran out like a snake towards a bell on the cushions,
but Dicky shot forward and caught the wrist in his slim, steel-like
fingers. There was a hard glitter in his eyes as he looked down into the
eyes of the master of a hundred slaves, the ruler of a province.

"I have a command of the Khedive to bring you to Cairo, and to kill you
if you resist," said Dicky. "Sit still--you had better sit still," he
added, in a soothing voice behind which was a deadly authority.

The Mudir licked his dry, colourless lips, and gasped, for he might make
an outcry, but he saw that Dicky would be quicker. He had been too long
enervated by indulgence to make a fight.

"You'd better take a drink of water," said Dicky, seating h