FINDING A WAY.

Gerald Winston endured several miserable, uneasy days following that of
Lord Consinor’s public disgrace. He longed to call upon Aneth, but dared
not intrude, and so compromised by sending her a daily gift of flowers.
At last, however, he decided to see Mrs. Everingham and endeavor to
ascertain Aneth’s condition, and whether her father’s fault was making
her as sorrowful as he feared.

He found Mrs. Everingham at her rooms in the Savoy, and was admitted at
once.

“I want to ask you about Miss Consinor,” he said, after he had been
warmly greeted, for they were good friends and she was glad he had come.

“Aneth is very unhappy,” was the sober reply.

“I can understand her humiliation, of course,” he continued, with a
sigh; “although I hoped she would be brave, and not take the unfortunate
circumstance too much to heart.”

“She is young,” answered Mrs. Everingham, evasively, “and cannot view
these things as composedly as we do. Moreover, you must remember that
Lord Consinor’s trouble touches her more deeply than anyone else.”

“Unless it is the viscountess,” he suggested.

“Oh, the poor viscountess knows nothing of it! She passes her time in an
exclusive consideration of her own ailments, and will scarcely see her
own daughter at all. Do you know, Gerald, I sometimes wonder how the
child can be so sweet and womanly when her surroundings are so
dreadful.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “Consinor has always borne a doubtful
reputation at home, and in past years Roane’s life has also been more or
less disgraceful. But the old fellow seems to be conducting himself very
properly since he came to Egypt, and it is possible he has reformed his
ways.”

She did not reply at once, but sat musing until she asked, with
startling abruptness:

“Gerald, do you love Aneth?”

He flushed and stammered in his endeavor to find words to reply. Since
his interview with Kāra he had confessed to himself that he did love
Aneth; but that another should discover his secret filled the big fellow
with confusion.

“Why do you ask?” he faltered, to gain time.

“Because the girl needs true and loving friends more at this moment than
in all her life to come,” said she, earnestly.

“I will be her true friend in any event,” he returned.

“But I must know more than that,” persisted Mrs. Everingham. “Tell me
frankly, Gerald, do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Well enough to wish to make her your wife, in spite of her family’s
shady history?”

“Yes,” he said again, looking at her inquiringly.

“Then I shall confide to you a great secret; for it is right that you
should be apprised of what is going on; and only you–with my
assistance, to be sure–can hope to defeat the cunning plot that
threatens to separate Aneth from you forever.”

Thereupon she related to him the details of the interview she had
overheard between Kāra and the girl, and told of the promise Aneth had
made to save her grandfather from disgrace by marrying the Egyptian.

“But this is nonsense!” he exclaimed, angrily. “The man is a fool to
wish to force any woman to marry him, and a scoundrel to use such means
to accomplish his purpose.”

“I know; I have discussed this matter with Aneth long and earnestly, but
all in vain. She is determined to sacrifice herself to save Lord Roane
from this disgrace; and Prince Kāra is inflexible. For some unknown
reason he has determined to make this girl his wife, although he did not
talk like a lover, and she told him frankly she could never love or even
esteem him. Really, it seems incomprehensible.”

“I know his reason well enough,” answered Winston, moodily. “He is
acting under the influence of the strongest and most evil human
passion–revenge. If you will kindly listen, my friend, I will relate a
bit of romance that should enable you to understand the Egyptian’s
purpose.”

He proceeded to recount the story of Hatatcha and Lord Roane, adding his
grounds for believing that Kāra had from the first contemplated the ruin
of the entire Consinor family.

“This is horrible!” cried Mrs. Everingham, indignantly. “If what you say
is true, this native prince is himself a grandson of Roane, and
therefore Aneth’s cousin.”

“I have called his attention to that fact, and he declares it is no bar
to his marrying her. I imagine his real meaning is that the relationship
is no bar to his prosecuting his nefarious plans. Does Lord Roane know
of this proposed sacrifice of his granddaughter for his sake?”

“No; and Aneth has made me promise to keep the secret from him. I cannot
see that he would be able to assist us in any way, if he knew all that
we know.”

“Perhaps not. Is the story true? Has Roane actually embezzled this
money?”

“I do not know.”

“It seems to me,” said the young man, thoughtfully, “that our first
action should be to discover the truth of Kāra’s assertion. He may have
trumped up the charge to work upon Aneth’s feelings, and lead her to
consent to marry him against her will.”

“That is true,” she said. “How can we investigate the matter?”

“Very easily. I will go to-morrow to the Rosetta Barrage and examine the
embankment. Afterward I can look up the records and discover what sort
of contract this man McFarland had, and how much money he collected for
its execution. That will give us the truth of the matter, and I can
accomplish it all in two days’ time.”

“Then go; but make haste, for every day is precious. We do not know when
the prince may call upon Aneth to fulfil her promise.”

They discussed the situation a while longer, and then Winston withdrew
to prepare for taking the early morning train.

The second evening after, he again called upon Mrs. Everingham.

“Well,” she inquired, eagerly, “what did you discover?”

“It is all true,” he answered, despondently. “The swindle has been
cleverly consummated, and in just the way Kāra explained it to Aneth.
There is no doubt of Lord Roane’s guilt; neither can we doubt that Kāra
has both the power and the will to expose and imprison him if it suits
his purpose to do so.”

“Then,” said Mrs. Everingham, firmly, “we must find another way to save
Aneth. The poor child is heart-broken, and moans every moment that she
is left alone with her misery. Lord Roane tries earnestly to comfort
her, for I am sure he loves her as well as one of his character is
capable of loving. But he imagines she grieves over her father, and
does not suspect the truth.”

“Is she still resolved upon keeping her promise?” he inquired.

“Yes; and that in spite of all I can say to move her. The girl has a
gentle and loving nature, but underneath it is a will of iron and a
stubbornness such as the early martyrs must have possessed. She holds
her own happiness as nothing when compared with her grandfather’s
safety.”

“Then what can we do?” he asked, pacing the floor nervously.

“We must resort to a cunning equal to Kāra’s in order to induce Aneth to
break her foolish promise,” responded Mrs. Everingham, promptly.

“I fear I do not quite understand,” he said, stopping before her to read
her countenance for the clue.

“I think–nay, Gerald, I am certain–the girl loves you; for I have
questioned her skilfully during your absence and led her to speak of
you, watching her tell-tale eyes as she did so. In my opinion it is this
secret love for another that makes her sacrifice so grievous, and will
end in breaking her heart.”

He blushed like a girl at hearing this, but was evidently reassured and
delighted.

“Yet I do not understand even now, Mrs. Everingham,” he said.

“It is not so much that you are stupid as that you are a man,” she
answered, smiling. “You must become the instrument to save Aneth from
herself. In a few moments I shall take you to see her. Her rooms are
just across the hall, and doubtless she is at this moment alone, Lord
Roane having left the hotel an hour ago. This evening I will give you
countenance, but thereafter you must play your own game, and do your
utmost to draw from Aneth a confession that she loves you. When you have
done that, our case is won.”

“Why so?”

“Can’t you see, Gerald? No right-minded girl would ruin the life of the
man she loves to save her grandfather from the consequences of his own
errors. If she is in the mood to sacrifice, we will let her sacrifice
Lord Roane instead of herself or you.”

“Oh!” he said, blankly. “I can’t do that, you know, Mrs. Everingham.”

“Why not?”

“It would not be honest or fair. And it would be selfish in me, and–and
unmanly.”

“But I am not thinking of you at all, sir, except as the instrument. I
am thinking of Aneth and her life’s happiness. Are you willing, on your
part, to sacrifice her to such a man as Kāra, that he may crush her to
gratify his revenge?”

“No; but–”

“Will you permit her, in her blindness and folly, to break her own heart
and ruin her own life, when you know that you can save her?”

“No.”

“The struggle is between you and Kāra. Lord Roane is a felon, and to
save him from the penalty due his acts will be to merely postpone the
day when another of his criminal misdeeds will be discovered. There is
little possible redemption for a man who has attained his sinful years;
but if the possibility did exist, the price would be too high. Opposed
to the desirability of shielding this reprobate nobleman and giving Kāra
his way–which simply means Aneth’s ruin–we must consider your mutual
love and the prospect of a long life of happiness for you both. Do you
dare to hesitate, Gerald Winston?”

“I will do exactly as you say, Mrs. Everingham,” he replied,
impetuously. “I can’t let her go to this fiend–to the terrible fate
that awaits her. Tell me what to do, and I will obey!”

“Your first duty will be to come with me to her room. And drop that long
face, sir! Be cheery and lighthearted, and woo Aneth as tenderly as if
you were wholly ignorant of the dreadful position she is in. Arrange to
call again to-morrow, and in the future do not leave her alone for a
single evening, and haunt her at all hours of the day. Remember that
time is precious, and the situation demands all your skill and
diplomacy. It cannot be a long siege; you must determine to capture her
by attack.”

“I–I’ll try,” he said, nervously.

And so he met Aneth again, for the first time since her trouble had come
upon her, and he performed his part so creditably that Mrs. Everingham
had but little fault to find with her coadjutor. The sight of the girl’s
swollen eyelids and her sad and resigned expression of countenance so
aroused his loving pity and indignation at the cruel plot that had
enmeshed her, that he could scarcely restrain the impulse to declare at
once his love and entreat her to give him an immediate right to protect
her.

Perhaps Aneth read something of his love for her in his eager face, for
she joined with Mrs. Everingham in sustaining the flow of small talk
that was likely to prove her best safeguard, and in this way was led to
forget for the moment her cares and fears. She hesitated a moment when
Gerald proposed to bring her a new book next afternoon, but finally
consented. Therefore, he left her feeling more buoyant and hopeful than
he had thought could be possible a few short hours before.

From that evening his former shyness disappeared, and he pushed his suit
with as much ardor as he dared, utterly ignoring Aneth’s evident desire
to restrain him from speaking too plainly. But sometimes she, too,
forgot her impending fate, and gave way to the delight of these happy
moments. Already she knew that Gerald loved her, for her woman’s
instinct was alert, and at night she lay upon her bed and wailed
miserably because the gates of paradise had suddenly opened before her,
and her willing feet were so bound that she might not enter.

During these days Lord Roane devoted much of his time to his grandchild,
treating her with almost reverential tenderness and striving in every
possible way to cheer her spirits. The old man realized that his
probation might be short. At any moment Kāra was liable to fulfil his
threat and expose him to the authorities, and involuntarily he caught
himself listening at all times for the footfall of the official coming
to arrest him. He even wondered why he had escaped so long, knowing
nothing of the manner in which Aneth had saved him.

And the girl, noting his loving care for her and marking the trouble
that often clouded his handsome face, was encouraged in her resolve to
carry out her compact with Kāra rather than see her aged grandfather
thrust into prison, humiliated and disgraced.

Between her awakening love for Gerald Winston and her desire to save the
family honor, the girl was indeed in pitiable straits. Yet never for a
moment did she hesitate as to which way the path of duty led.

She felt that every day she remained unmolested by the Egyptian was a
precious boon to be grateful for, yet always she dreaded Kāra’s summons.
However, he was in no hurry, realizing the bitterness to her of these
days of waiting, and enjoying the prolongation of her sufferings. All
the love that Kāra had formerly borne the girl seemed to have dissolved
as if by magic, and in its place had grown up schemes for so horrible a
vengeance that he often wondered whether Hatatcha herself might not have
hesitated to accomplish it.

But Kāra did not hesitate. The very diablerie of the thing fascinated
and delighted him, and he anticipated the event with eager joy.

Tadros spent much of his time at the hotel, in charge of Kāra’s
elaborate system of espionage. His functions as dragoman gained for him
special privileges, and the hall porter allowed him free access to the
lobby; yet he was only able to enter the upper halls when he could plead
some definite errand. This excuse was provided by a guest of the hotel,
an agreeable Frenchman who was in Kāra’s employ and maintained a
surveillance over the interior of the establishment, while a half-dozen
Arabs and Copts watched carefully the exterior. Thus Tadros was enabled
to keep in close touch with the movements of Lord Roane and Aneth, as
well as to spy upon those who might visit them, and his orders were to
report promptly to Kāra any suspicious circumstances which might
indicate that his victims were planning their escape.

But, from the dragoman’s reports, all seemed well, and his prospective
prey apparently made no effort to evade their fate.

Kāra depended much upon Aneth’s delicate sense of honor and her strength
of character, and read her so truly that there was little chance of her
disappointing him. Roane, however, caused him a little uneasiness, and
the Egyptian’s spies shadowed him wherever he went. But Kāra misjudged
the old gentleman if he supposed that Roane would tamely submit to
Aneth’s sacrifice had he known her secret. The girl understood him
better, and although she did not know of his indignant rejection of
Kāra’s offer to shield him at the expense of his granddaughter’s
happiness, Aneth knew that if Roane learned the truth he would at once
give himself up to justice in order to save her; and here was a danger
the clever Egyptian had not even suspected.

In many of his dealings Roane was doubtless an unprincipled knave; but
certain points of character were so impressed upon his nature, through
inheritance from generations of more noble Consinors, that in matters of
chivalry his honor could not be successfully challenged.

The dragoman said nothing to Kāra about Winston’s frequent visits to
Aneth. During his hours of watching Tadros indulged in reflection, and
these musings encouraged a growing resentment toward his master that
destroyed much of his value as a confidential servant. Aside from the
resentment, Tadros was afraid of Kāra, and also uneasy as to his
financial condition. The prince, who was accustomed to scatter money
with a liberal hand, had of late refrained from exhibiting a single
piastre. Tadros wondered, and grew suspicious. One evening, as he
reported to Kāra, he said:

“The tradesmen are clamoring for their money. They say you are not
paying them as promptly as you did heretofore.”

Kāra looked up with surprise.

“Is not my credit good?” he inquired.

“For the present, yes,” replied the dragoman; “but it will not remain
good unless you begin to pay for all the magnificence you are putting
into this villa.”

“I see,” said Kāra, nodding thoughtfully. “They are fools, my Tadros,
but they might become troublesome. Keep them satisfied with promises for
a time longer. That should not be a difficult task.”

Tadros looked at him distrustfully.

“Tell me, my prince; have you spent all your treasure?” he asked.

The Egyptian smiled.

“If I should live a thousand years, my Tadros,” he returned, “I could
not spend the half of it.”

“Then why do you not pay these merchants?”

“Because I have at this time no more money in the bank, and it is not
convenient for me to leave Cairo just now to secure a further supply.”

“Oh, I see!” remarked the dragoman, heaving a sigh of relief. “You must
make another trip to Fedah.”

Kāra gave him one of those intent, thoughtful looks that always made
Tadros uneasy; but when he spoke his voice sounded soft and pleasant.

“What causes you to think my treasure is at Fedah, my good friend?” he
asked.

The tone reassured the dragoman.

“It stands to reason, my prince, that it is there,” he answered, with
frank indifference. “Do I not well remember first seeing the papyri in
your house, and afterward carrying away from there the heavy traveling
case that was filled with precious gems?”

“Ah! was it?”

“Of course, Kāra. How else could you give so many ancient gems to the
Van der Veens to recut, or turn so many more into money by selling them
to Andalaft, the jeweler?”

“You have been observant, my Tadros.”

“It is natural. I am no fool. But if, as you say, there is more treasure
at Fedah, I will undertake to keep the rascally tradesmen quiet until
you can make another deposit in the bank.”

Kāra was still reading the countenance of his dragoman.

“It is quite evident that you are no fool, my Tadros,” he said, softly;
“yet I had not imagined you capable of so much shrewdness and wisdom.
Look you! Fedah consists of a rock and a few stone houses cemented with
Nile mud. It is familiar to you, being your birthplace as well as my
own. Now where do you suppose, within the limits of that simple village,
a treasure could have been discovered?”

“It has puzzled me,” acknowledged Tadros; “but I suppose you do not wish
me to know the exact location. Nevertheless, it is evident that the
treasure is a very ancient one, and therefore it must have been hidden
by your forefathers in the mountain itself, or perhaps on the desert
that adjoins the village.”

“A long-buried and forgotten temple; eh, Tadros?”

“Oh, no; a tomb, of course! They did not keep pearls and rubies in the
temples. Only in tombs could such trinkets be found. That is why I
believe your statement that you are the last descendant of the great
kings of Egypt; for this tomb was not discovered by accident, I know.
The secret of its existence must have been handed down through the
generations. Hatatcha knew, and told you of it before she died; so it is
your personal property, and its possession proves your noble blood. I am
glad the treasure is ample; for at the rate you are squandering money,
it would otherwise be soon exhausted.”

“Very wisely argued, indeed,” said Kāra. “I wonder how much of my
inheritance has already found its way into your own pockets.”

“Not too much, you may be sure,” answered the dragoman, gravely. “I am
very honest, and take only my rightful perquisites. It is better that
these trifles should go to me than to strangers, for I am your own
kinsman and almost as pure an Egyptian as yourself.”

“True. I do not complain, my Tadros. But in acquiring my money you
should take care not to acquire too much knowledge of my affairs with
it, for such knowledge is liable to prove extremely dangerous. Consider
the pearls of wisdom that have even now dropped from your lips. Must
they not be repaid? And already I am greatly in your debt.”

“You are talking riddles,” growled the dragoman, uneasily. “Tell me what
you mean in plain words.”

“Do you remember the day that Nephthys broke her water-jar?”

“Yes.”

“You struck me, your prince, and knocked me down.”

“Well, you choked me afterward. That should even the score.”

“Not quite. I choked you for spying upon me. That was another offense.
The blow has not yet been accounted for.”

Tadros frowned.

“I do not bear grudges myself,” he muttered.

“There are a few other matters scored against your account,” continued
Kāra. “Still, so long as you serve me faithfully, and I have need of
you, I shall not exact a reckoning; but they stand on record, my Tadros,
and some day the account must be balanced. Do not forget that. For these
reasons, and remembering that you have declared yourself no fool, I am
certain that you will admit you were wrong about the location of my
treasure. When you think it over, you will conclude that it lies in
Luxor, or Abydos, or perhaps is a myth altogether, and never has
existed. And, when you chatter to others, no mention of a hidden tomb or
temple will be permitted to pass your lips. I am quite sure you will be
circumspect, and I trust you to keep to yourself the secret of my
affairs. If I thought you would betray me, I would kill you now, instead
of waiting. But you will not do that; you are too fond of living and of
the money you are saving to hazard losing both.”

Tadros returned to his duties in a very thoughtful mood. In playing upon
his fears, Kāra had overreached himself, and made the dragoman so much
afraid that he believed his life hung by a thread. Therefore, he sought
most earnestly for a way of escape from the thrall of his terrible
countryman.

The following morning Gerald Winston, on leaving Mrs. Everingham after a
conference concerning their plans, met Tadros face to face in the
corridor of the hotel. He recognized the man at once as Kāra’s dragoman
and confidential servant. Moreover, he suspected that the fellow had
just come from the Consinor apartments; so he had no hesitation in
accosting him.

“May I speak with you a moment in private?” he asked.

“Most certainly, sir.”

Winston led the way into Mrs. Everingham’s drawing-room, where the lady
greeted his return with surprise, but a quick appreciation of the
importance of securing an interview with Kāra’s confidant.

“You are Prince Kāra’s dragoman, I believe?” began the Englishman.

“Yes, Winston Bey.”

“And devoted to him personally, of course?”

“To an extent, naturally,” returned Tadros, hesitating what to say. “You
see, he pays me liberally.”

Winston and Mrs. Everingham exchanged glances. Then the lady took up the
conversation.

“Prince Kāra,” she said, in a stern tone, “is a scoundrel, being even
now engaged in perfecting one of the most diabolical plots the mind of
man has ever conceived.”

Tadros did not reply. It was not his business to deny the charge.

“Our desire and intention to defeat this plot,” she continued, “lead us
to speak to you frankly. We must save Miss Consinor from an ignoble
alliance with your master.”

Tadros listened carefully.

“To accomplish our purpose, we are willing to expend a great deal of
money–enough to make some faithful ally comfortable for the remainder
of his life.”

A pause followed this significant statement. Tadros felt the effect of
their scrutinizing glances, and cleared his throat while he looked
swiftly around to make sure they could not be overheard. Then,
reassured, he answered with his native bluntness of speech.

“I am willing to earn this money,” said he, “if you will show me how to
do it with safety. Kāra is a fiend. He would not hesitate to kill all
three of us if he had reason to suspect we were plotting against him.”

“I will give you a thousand pounds,” said Winston, “if you will tell us
what you know of Kāra’s plans. I will give you two thousand pounds
additional if we succeed in saving Miss Consinor.”

Tadros was pleased. He had intended to break with Kāra anyway. To be
well paid for doing this was a stroke of good fortune.

“I accept your offer,” he replied. “But I must inform you that there is
no time to be lost. I have just taken a message to Miss Consinor,
telling her to be ready to go to Kāra at nine o’clock this evening.”

“This evening!” exclaimed Winston, alarmed. “And what was her reply?”

“She assured me that she would keep her compact with the prince and be
ready to accompany me at the hour named. I am to call for her and take
her in a closed carriage to Kāra’s villa.”

“And then?” asked Mrs. Everingham, eagerly.

“Then there is to be a mock ceremony of marriage, which is intended to
entrap the young lady so that she will think everything is regular, and
will make no disturbance,” answered Tadros, calmly. “A Copt, named
Mykel, who is one of Kāra’s servants, is to be dressed as a priest and
perform the Coptic marriage service, which is a Christian function not
unlike your own. But the man is not a priest, and the marriage will be
illegal. The intention is to destroy the young lady’s good name, after
which Kāra will drive her away. Then he intends to deliver her
grandfather, Lord Roane, over to justice.”

“What a dreadful crime!” exclaimed Mrs. Everingham, indignantly. “And
Aneth is sacrificing herself because she believes the act will save her
grandfather.”

“That is Kāra’s promise,” returned the dragoman. “But he has no
intention of keeping it. Did he not give her a forged copy of Roane’s
receipt? For some reason my prince aims at the ruin of the entire
Consinor family. The young lady’s father he has already disgraced and
driven from Cairo.”

“I understand his motive,” said Winston, “and believe you are right in
claiming that Kāra will not spare Lord Roane once Aneth is in his power.
The danger is terrible and imminent, for nothing will move Aneth to
abandon her purpose. She imagines she is saving Roane, and has exacted
from us a promise not to tell the old gentleman of her sacrifice. So our
hands are tied.”

“It seems to me,” declared Mrs. Everingham, after a moment’s thought,
“that we must use the self-same weapons in fighting Kāra that he is
employing. With the dragoman’s assistance it ought to be easy to save
Aneth, even against her will.”

“In what way?” inquired Gerald, earnestly.

She did not reply at once. Instead, she studied the dragoman’s
countenance with steadfast eyes.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Tadros, madam.”

“Will you follow our instructions faithfully, and not betray us to
Prince Kāra?”

“Yes. I hate Kāra. He will kill me for deserting him if he gets the
chance; but then he intends to kill me anyway as soon as he can spare my
services. If your plan includes the murder of Prince Kāra, I shall be
very glad.”

“It does not; but we will protect you from any harm, rest assured. Your
task is simple. When you call for Miss Consinor to-night you will drive
her, not to the prince’s villa, but to the embankment, where you will
place her on board Winston Bey’s dahabeah. It will lie opposite Roda, on
the west bank. Cross the Gizireh bridge and drive as rapidly as possible
to the boat, where we shall be waiting to receive you.”

“My dahabeah!” cried Winston, astonished.

“To be sure. You will have everything in readiness for a voyage up the
Nile, with a prisoner aboard.”

“A prisoner?”

“Yes; Aneth. She will, of course, refuse to go willingly, having given
Kāra her word. I will accompany the party as her keeper, and we must
find some way to induce Lord Roane to join us also. Once afloat on the
mysterious river, Kāra will have no means of knowing what has become of
his victims, and before we return, my friend, we shall have perfected
such arrangements as will render the prince’s intention to marry our
Aneth impossible. That is why I desire Lord Roane to join the party. He
also will be safe from Kāra for a time.”

“I understand you now,” said Winston; “and while I do not see quite to
the end of the adventure, the plan will at least give us time to
formulate our future action and enable us to thwart Kāra’s immediate
schemes.”

“That is my idea,” she returned. “Something must be done at once; and by
abducting Aneth, we not only gain time, but save her temporarily from
the consequences of her own folly.”

Then she turned to Tadros.

“What do you think of my plan?” she asked.

“It is excellent,” said he, “except for one thing; there are several
spies about this hotel, who would at once follow us and inform Kāra that
we had boarded the dahabeah; but I think I can find a way to throw them
off the scent. They are under my orders, and I will send them to other
stations before nine o’clock. Aside from this, then, do I understand
that my only duty is to deliver the young lady on board the dahabeah?”

“That is all we ask.”

“I will show three red lights,” said Winston, “so that you cannot
mistake the exact location of the boat.”

“I know the boat,” replied the dragoman. “Abdallah, your engineer, is a
friend of mine.”

“You will not fail us?” asked Mrs. Everingham, anxiously. “All depends
upon you, Tadros!”

“I know, and I will not fail you,” he said.

“I believe you will earn the three thousand pounds,” remarked Winston,
significantly.

“As for that, sir,” replied the dragoman, with dignity, “I hope you will
give me credit for a little humanity as well as cupidity. Being an
Egyptian, I love money; being a man, I am eager to assist a woman in
distress. But, above all else, I shall have pleasure in defying Kāra,
who hates me as heartily as I hate him. Thus, three passions vouch for
my fidelity–love, pity and hatred. Can you doubt my devotion to the
cause?”

After this he went away, leaving his fellow-conspirators to plan the
details of the evening’s adventure.