wards and forwards in the full light of
the fire, looking very warlike and reckless; the envy and admiration of
Lakamba's retainers, who stood in groups or flitted about noiselessly in
the shadows of the courtyard.

The messenger who had been sent to Omar came back and stood at a
distance, waiting till somebody noticed him. Babalatchi beckoned him
close.

"What are his words?" asked Babalatchi.

"He says that Syed Abdulla is welcome now," answered the man.

Lakamba was speaking low to Abdulla, who listened to him with deep
interest.

". . . We could have eighty men if there was need," he was
saying--"eighty men in fourteen canoes. The only thing we want is
gunpowder . . ."

"Hai! there will be no fighting," broke in Babalatchi. "The fear of your
name will be enough and the terror of your coming."

"There may be powder too," muttered Abdulla with great nonchalance, "if
only the ship enters the river safely."

"If the heart is stout the ship will be safe," said Babalatchi. "We will
go now and see Omar el Badavi and the white man I have here."

Lakamba's dull eyes became animated suddenly.

"Take care, Tuan Abdulla," he said, "take care. The behaviour of that
unclean white madman is furious in the extreme. He offered to
strike . . ."

"On my head, you are safe, O Giver of alms!" interrupted Babalatchi.

Abdulla looked from one to the other, and the faintest flicker of a
passing smile disturbed for a moment his grave composure. He turned to
Babalatchi, and said with decision--

"Let us go."

"This way, O Uplifter of our hearts!" rattled on Babalatchi, with fussy
deference. "Only a very few paces and you shall behold Omar the brave,
and a white man of great strength and cunning. This way."

He made a sign for Lakamba to remain behind, and with respectful touches
on the elbow steered Abdulla towards the gate at the upper end of the
court-yard. As they walked on slowly, followed by the two Arabs, he kept
on talking in a rapid undertone to the great man, who never looked at
him once, although appearing to listen with flattering attention. When
near the gate Babalatchi moved forward and stopped, facing Abdulla, with
his hand on the fastenings.

"You shall see them both," he said. "All my words about them are true.
When I saw him enslaved by the one of whom I spoke, I knew he would be
soft in my hand like the mud of the river. At first he answered my
talk with bad words of his own language, after the manner o