hman's life was in his hands to
do with what he chose, for the law of the harem which defies all outside
law was on his side. But here he was come to listen to Dicky Donovan,
the arrogant little favourite, pleading for the life of the English boy
who had done the thing for which the only penalty was death.

Dicky showed no emotion as he entered the room, but salaamed, and said:
"Your Excellency is prompt. Honour and peace be upon your Excellency!"
"Honour and the bounty of the stars be upon thee, saadat el basha!"

There was a slight pause, in which Dicky seated himself, lighted a
cigarette, and summoned a servant, of whom he ordered coffee. They did
not speak meantime, but Dicky sat calmly, almost drowsily, smoking, and
Selamlik Pasha sat with greasy hands clasping and unclasping, his yellow
eyes fixed on Dicky with malevolent scrutiny.

When the coffee was brought, the door had been shut, and Dicky had drawn
the curtain across, Selamlik Pasha said: "What great affair brings us
together here, saadat el basha?"

"The matter of the Englishman you hold a prisoner, Excellency."

"It is painful, but he is dead," said the Pasha, with a grimace of
cruelty.

Dicky's eyes twitched slightly, but he answered with coolness, thrusting
his elbow into the cushions and smoking hard: "But, no, he is not dead.
Selamlik Pasha has as great an instinct for a bargain as for revenge.
Also Selamlik Pasha would torture before he kills. Is it not so?"

"What is your wish?"

"That the man be set free, Excellency."

"He has trespassed. He has stolen his way into the harem. The infidel
dog has defiled the house of my wives."

"He will marry the woman, with your permission, Excellency. He loved
her--so it would seem."

"He shall die--the dog of an infidel!"

Dicky was now satisfied that Sowerby was alive, and that the game was
fairly begun. He moved slowly towards his purpose.

"I ask his life, as a favour to me. The Khedive honours me, and I can
serve you betimes, Excellency."

"You called me 'Trousers,' and all Egypt laughed," answered the Pasha
malignantly.

"I might have called you worse, but I did not. You may call me what you
will--I will laugh."

"I will call you a fool for bringing me here to laugh at you, who now
would kiss Selamlik Pasha's shoe. I would he were your brother. I would
tear out his fingernails, pierce his eyes, burn him with hot irons, pour
boiling oil over him and red cinders down his throat--if he were