Although every effort had been made
to trace her, she had disappeared. Of the treasure of the Sanoms, too,
nothing had been heard. How it had been conveyed out of Mo remained an
inscrutable mystery.

I confess to being astonished that Omar seldom, if ever, spoke of either
of these matters, which had at first so seriously agitated him. Whether
he had relinquished all thought of recovering the jewels collected by his
ancestors, or whether he was endeavouring to formulate some plan of
action I knew not, yet his unwillingness to speak of them was, to say the
least, noteworthy.

"Niaro has to-day returned from the gate of Mo," I observed one evening
when we were sitting alone together in one of the smaller courts, the
night air stirred by the distant sound of stringed instruments and the
thumping of Moorish tam-tams. "He has sent messengers by the Way of the
Thousand Steps far into the lands beyond, but no word have they been able
to gather regarding the Naya."

"She has escaped the mad vengeance of our people, who would have killed
her," he said, calmly. "For that I am thankful."

"You seem to have no desire that she should be captured," I said.

"None. She has escaped. After all it is best."

"But the treasure," I said, dropping my voice so that no eavesdropper
might overhear. "Its hiding place, like the thief, is still unknown."

"Yes," he answered. "Unknown at present, but ere long some discovery must
be made. When it is, I anticipate it will be a startling one."

Our conversation was interrupted at that moment by the approach of a
slave who, bowing low until his brow touched our carpet, said:

"One of thy servants, O Master, desireth to have speech with thee. He
hath sped from afar upon the wings of haste and beareth tidings."

"Of what?" cried Omar, starting up.

"I know not, O Master. The name of thy servant who awaiteth audience with
thee is Makhana, who cometh from beyond the great black water."

"Makhana!" we both cried, and Omar ordered that he should be admitted
immediately, and without ceremony. Then, turning to me, he explained that
on ascending the throne he had sent a message to Makhana in London
ordering him to return at once.

A moment later the secret agent of Mo, a tall, sparse figure, attired in
shabby European clothes, entered, and, snapping fingers with his master,
greeted and congratulated him. Then, casting himself upon the mat near
us, he began to tell us what had occurred after our fl