It was twenty minutes later, when the nerves of the most unconcerned were beginning to get on edge, that the patter of horses’ feet and the rapid whir of wheels broke the silence. A carriage dashed up to the villa and halted.
Kāra hurried forward expectantly, but paused abruptly when he met the spy who had been sent to watch Tadros.
“Where is the dragoman?” he demanded, in a sharp voice.
“The dragoman, your highness, is a traitor,” said the man.
Kāra’s nervousness suddenly subsided. He became composed in demeanor and his voice grew soft.
“Explain, if you please,” said he.
The man bowed.
“Arriving at the hotel, Tadros sent away your excellency’s carriage — ”
“Where is it now?”
“I do not know. Then he engaged another equipage — that of the Arab named Effta Marada, bearing the number of ninety-three. Tadros brought the young lady down and placed her in Effta’s carriage, ordering him to drive to the opera house. I sprang up behind and accompanied them. Tadros soon got rid of Effta by sending him on an errand and then drove quickly away. He crossed the Nile to the west embankment nd drove down the river to a point opposite the island of Roda, where your dragoman placed the lady on board dahabeah.”
“Yes; go on.”
“When the boat steamed away up the river, I took the deserted carriage and drove here as rapidly as possible. That is all, your excellency.”
“Whose dahabeah was it?”
“That belonging to Winston Bey. I saw him on board.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“The lady who has been a friend to Miss Consinor.”
“That is Mrs. Everingham.”
“And an old Englishman, Lord Roane.”
“Ah! Quite a family party. And our dear Tadros vent with them?”
“He did, your excellency.”
“Up the river, you say?”
“Yes, your excellency.”
“Thank you. You may retire.”
Kāra turned to Ebbek.
“Put out the lights and send the servants to their quarters,” he said, calmly.
In his room the prince tore off the white gloves and changed from evening dress to a gray traveling suit. Then he returned to the now deserted courtyard and sat down in the moonlight beside the fountain to smoke a cigar.
The blow had been sharp and sudden. While Kāra fully realized the natural capability of Tadros for deception and double dealing, he also knew that the blustering dragoman was an arrant coward, and so was bewildered at the courage manifested in his treachery.
But it was characteristic of Kāra that he neither bemoaned his adverse fortune nor became despondent. He entertained a passing regret that he had delayed killing the dragoman, but did not permit himself to dwell long upon his servant’s defection. The thing to be first sought was a remedy for the apparent failure of his carefully laid plans. By and by he would attend to the dragoman’s reward. Just now it was imperative to prevent his intended victims from succeeding in their attempt to escape.
There was no demand for immediate action. The dahabeah was, as he knew, a slow steamer, and would be forced to breast the Nile current sluggishly. His enemies doubtless depended for their safety from pursuit upon Kāra’s supposed ignorance of their whereabouts. He admitted that someone had plotted shrewdly against him. On the Nile a party in a small boat is almost as isolated as if at sea. The express steamers and tourist steamers pass now and then, but they travel rapidly, appearing and disappearing within the brief space of half an hour. Aside from these, only the native barges, picturesque and ghostlike as they drift by, break the ripples of the broad river. The banks are sprinkled with many villages, and at this season shaduf workers are plentiful; but the native has tired of staring at the Nile flotilla, unless awaiting with eagerness the landing of the big tourist steamer, from whose passengers a scant livelihood is gained, and this occurs only at certain points of interest.
So Kāra had time to be deliberate. It even occurred to him that this seeming calamity might turn out to be exceptionally favorable to the success of his schemes. In Cairo one must act with circumspection, because the police of the city are alert and almost incorruptible. The Nile dwellers fear the law rather than respect it; but they are too far from the capital to be very much afraid. Where tourists disembark, a mounted officer is stationed to lash the impudent villagers into a state of dull apathy, such as the caged tiger feels for its trainer; but they lapse into savagery when his back is turned, and in the more unfrequented villages the sheik is absolute king.
Kāra considered carefully these conditions, and soon formed new plans to complete his vengeance. Then, the cigar being finished, he went to bed and slept until daybreak.
“I shall be absent for several days,” he said to Ebbek, as he ate an early breakfast. “See that everything is in perfect order when I return. If tradesmen come to demand money, promise them payment immediately on my arrival in Cairo.”
“Yes, my master.”
He caught the morning train for Luxor and arrived by noon at a station opposite the native village of Beni-Hassan, whence he crossed the river in a small boat.
The children of Hassan have for centuries been known as “the bandits of the Nile,” and their three connected villages, lying close to the river bank, have replaced those that were totally destroyed by the Government during the reign of Mohammed ‘Ali in the hope of scattering the tribes and breaking up their thieving propensities; but the Beni-Hassans rebuilt their mud dwellings and calmly remained in possession. To-day they are cautiousty avoided by isolated tourists, who are fully warned of their evil reputation.
As he landed, Kāra found the villages seemingly deserted. Underneath the tall palms at the right a few swathed figures lay motionless, while small black goats and stray chickens wandered listlessly about; but the visitor paid little attention to these signs. He knew the old men and women were swarming in the huts while the younger men were away at the distant tombs in the hills or engaged in earning a stipend at the neighboring shadufs.
Turning to the left, he followed a path leading up a slight incline to the low bluff covered with a second grove of stately palms, beneath the shade of which the better dwellings of Beni-Hassan have been built. He had never been in the village before, but had heard it described innumerable times since his boyhood. Even when he paused before an extensive building having cane and mud walls and a roof of palm leaves, he was fairly certain he had correctly guessed the location of the place he sought.
“Does Sheik Antar live here?” he asked a child that came out to stare at him.
The little one nodded and ran within. Kāra sat down cross-legged upon the path of baked mud, removed both his shoes and placed them beside him, and then patiently awaited his reception.
After some five minutes a gigantic Arab bent his head to emerge from the low doorway, and, after a calm but shrewd glance at his visitor, came forward and stood before Kāra.
“Allahu akbar!”he said, spreading wide his arms in greeting. “The stranger is welcome to all that I possess.”
“May Allah bless and guard the habitation of the mighty sheik!” responded Kāra, in purest Arabic.
Then the sheik sat cross-legged upon the ground, facing his guest, and also removed his red morocco slippers. His beard was gray and his eyes black and piercing. His frame was lean and the flesh hard as iron, denoting great strength. He wore the green turban that proved he had made the Mecca pilgrimage.
“It pleases me that I behold the mighty Sheik Antar, beloved of Allah, and the curse of all enemies of the prophet,” began Kāra after a brief silence, during which the men eyed each other earnestly.
“My brother speaks well,” was the grave reply; “yet so lost am I in wonder at the glory and honor conferred upon my humble home by his presence, that the exalted name of my guest escapes my fickle memory.”
Kāra bowed to the ground.
“I am of Gebel
Abu Fedah, the grandson of the Princess Hatatcha, and descended from the line of Ahtka-Rā and the royal kings of ancient Egypt My name is Kāra.”
With dignified gesture the sheik extended his hand and clasped that of the stranger.
“The fame of the last great Egyptian has already reached my ears,” said he. “Raschid, the Syrian dragoman, whose boat, the Rames es, was here but three days since, told me of your life in Cairo, of your magnificence and vast riches, of your generosity and wisdom. Fedah I know, for the sheik of Al-Kusiyeh is my comrade. The glory of Kāra the Egyptian is reflected upon every dweller along the Nile bank.”
After another pause to permit of due and deliberate appreciation of this compliment, Kāra drew a heavy sigh and responded:
“Yet all is not at peace with me, most noble Antar. My enemies oppress me and cause me much sorrow; wherefore I am driven to appeal to my brother for aid.” The eyes of the sheik sparkled.
“Already,” said he, “confusion has fallen upon Kāra’s foes; for they surely cannot escape the blight of Antar’s hatred!”
“Then see how gratitude flows from my heart like a very cataract,” answered the other, with downcast eyes. “It is little that Kāra can do to repay such brotherly love; but the great sheik must distribute for me ten thousand piastres to his worthy poor, even on that day when my enemies are confounded.”
Antar’s brow was thoughtful. A great payment meant a great service.
“My brother will tell me a story,” said he, “and I will listen.”
Thereupon, in the flowery language of Arabia, which English words but feebly translate, the Egyptian told of a boat steaming slowly up the Nile and bearing his enemies toward the villages of Beni-Hassan. He described the women and the men, and noticed that the sheik grunted with discouraging emphasis when Winston Bey’s name was mentioned. Then, following out the idea of relating a tale, Kāra told how his brother, the mighty sheik Antar, fell upon the dahabeah and captured it, turning over all the passengers and crew to Kāra except one — Tadros the dragoman being unfortunately killed and dropped overboard to find a final resting-place in the mud at the river’s bottom. Then Winston’s crew was replaced by six strong men of Beni-Hassan, who obeyed Kāra’s commands as willingly as if they proceeded from Antar himself. And Kāra afterward steamed up the Nile to Fedah, with the sheik on board, and at Fedah gave to him not only the ten thousand piastres for his poor, but many gems of fabulous worth for his personal adornment and that of his women.
Was it not a pretty story? he concluded, and did it not sound like a prophecy in Antar’s discerning ears?
The sheik considered long and earnestly. He did not like meddling with Winston Bey, whom he knew of old and respected highly; but Kāra’s allusion to the gems was irresistible, and Antar might discover a way to keep from being recognized by the scientist.
It required several hours to conclude the bargain, but at last both men thoroughly understood the details of the service that was required and must be rendered. The assault upon the dahabeah was discussed and planned, and the terms of payment agreed upon. The killing of Tadros was an incident that the sheik accepted without demur.
With two clever rascals such as the Egyptian and the Arab in charge of the raid, there seemed little hope that Winston Bey’s unsuspecting party could escape absolute destruction.
CHAPTER XXI.
LOTUS-EATERS AND CROCODILES.
If in all the realm of travel there is a voyage that is absolutely ideal, it is the trip up the Nile. The constant change of scene, varying with every bend in the river; the shifting lights, the gentle ripple of the waters, the distant songs and shouts of the native boatmen; the outlines of the Libyan hills by moonlight and the rocky wastes of desert, dotted with gorgeous crimson and yellow cacti, by day; the sunsets that paint the cloudless Egyptian skies with entrancing splendor, and the silhouettes of donkey and camel trains above the high embankment at twilight; these, taken in connection with the care-free, lotus-eating existence of the voyager, leave an impression so vivid and sweet and altogether satisfactory that no other experience in the whole world of travel can compare with or ever efface it from one’s memory.
Aneth believed the dragoman’s assertion that Prince Kāra had been generous at last and released her from her promise. Neither Winston nor Mrs. Everingham dared vouch for the dragoman’s statements; but they remained silent while Tadros, unabashed, explained that his master was whimsical and erratic, but very kind-hearted and considerate, and incapable of wronging any one in any way.
“As for Lord Roane, miss,” he said, confidentially, “there is no doubt he did an imprudent things which vexed my master, who has a high sense of honor; so he frightened my lord, to teach him to be more careful in the future. But never had he the slightest idea of exposing him to public infamy, I assure you. Kāra has told me so himself.”
The dragoman derived much satisfaction from these inventions, especially as he noticed how implicitly Aneth believed them, and how they operated to cheer her spirits and render her content with her novel and delightful surroundings. Everyone on board was devoted to the girl, and, under the genial influences of the voyage, she recovered, to an extent, her old brightness and vivacity. There was no harm now in blushing happily at the love-light in Gerald’s eyes, and her three companions were those she loved best in all the world. Her recent cares and heartaches seemed all to have been left behind in Cairo, and she could look forward to many weeks of keen enjoyment.
She was sorry, however, that she had misjudged Prince Kāra, and promised herself to implore his pardon immediately on her return to Cairo.
Gerald and Mrs. Everingham, while they did not disabuse Aneth’s mind, were a trifle uneasy at the growing audacity of the dragoman’s statements, and warned him to be more careful. After the girl had regained her health and self-possession, they would explain to her the truth of the matter and discredit Tadros freely; at present they were content to note her bright eyes and the roses creeping back to her cheeks.
Lord Roane had wisely decided not to ask questions. From what he overheard he understood that Kāra was now befriending Aneth instead of persecuting her, and this being the case, his own danger was reduced to a minimum. He could not understand the Egyptian’s change of attitude in the least. If Kāra had intended merely to frighten him, he had succeeded admirably, and Roane told himself that the punishment he had already suffered through terror and despair was sufficient to expiate his long-forgotten sin against Hatatcha. But did Kāra think so? That was a question he could not answer, but he decided to defer all worries for the present at least.
Gerald Winston would have been less than human had he refrained from showing to Aneth, during these delightful days, how dearly he loved her and what happiness her companionship brought to him. The moonlit evenings on deck were sufficient to inspire the most bashful lover, and Gerald did not dare waste his golden opportunities. If he won Aneth at all, it must be on this trip, and under the spur of Mrs. Everingham’s counsel to be bold, he soon put his fate to the test and marveled at his success. The girl had suffered too much to trifle with her lover’s heart, and her consent was readily won. It was his intention that they be married while at Luxor or Aswan, there being English churches in both places and ample conveniences for a proper conduct of the ceremony. Roane was fond of Winston, and offered no objection to a plan which would ensure Aneth’s happiness and which seemed to be defective only in its precipitancy.
The project pleased Aneth as much as it delighted her lover. In her days of misery, when she thought she had lost him forever, the full value of Gerald’s love had been so impressed upon her that she clung to him now, realizing that he represented the full measure of her future happiness; still, she experienced an uneasy sensation that any unnecessary delay might prove dangerous. Her contract with Kāra, moreover, had taught her to face the possibility of a sudden marriage, and what was a hateful ordeal then would now become a crown of triumph.
“Whenever you like, Gerald,”
she said, “I will become your wife. I could never wish for other witnesses of my wedding than my dear grandfather and Mrs. Everingham; and happiness is such a precious thing and life so uncertain, that I have no desire to resist your proposal.”
“Thank you, my dear one,” he said, gravely.
“And I think I prefer Luxor to Aswan. It will be so romantic to be wed in the old Theban city, where the Egyptian princesses once made their home and where they lived and loved, will it not?”
“It shall be Luxor,” he declared.
That week was one of never-to-be-forgotten delight Even Tadros wore a perpetual smile, although this method of sweet communion between lovers was all new and amazing to him. He felt quite secure now for the first time since Kāra had asserted his power over the dragoman’s destinies, and wondered — the thing being so easy — why he had so long hesitated to break with his arrogant and imperious master. As the dahabeah lazily breasted the languid current of the river, Tadros idly wondered what Kāra was doing now, and could not forbear a laugh at the thought of the Egyptian’s anger and perplexity when he had discovered the flight of his proposed victims. Oh, well — Kāra had pitted his cunning against the dragoman’s intelligence! It was little wonder he was discomfited.
On the afternoon of the seventh day they steamed slowly past Beni-Hassan, their moderate progress being due to the fact that the boat tied up from every sunset to the next sunrise. Beni-Hassan was a picturesque village as viewed from the river, where its filth and stench were imperceptible, and the groups of splendid palms lent a dignity to the place that a closer inspection would prove undeserved.
Aneth, seated happily by Gerald’s side beneath the ample deck awning, admired the village greatly, and her lover promised to stop there on their return and give her an opportunity of visiting the famous tombs in the nearby hillside.
At twilight they anchored midway between Beni-Hassan and Antinoe, the boat lying motionless a few yards away from the east bank.
The evenings are delightful in this part of Egypt, and it was midnight before the passengers aboard die dahabeah sought their couches. Tadros, indeed, being wakeful, lay extended upon the stem deck of the steamer long after the others were asleep, engaged in thoughtfully gazing at the high bank and indulging in pleasant dreams of future prosperity when he had added Winston Bey’s three thousand pounds to the snug savings he had already accumulated.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 794