liam Sowerby," came rapping at his
door one hot noon-day with a dark tale of disaster to his master. This
was the heart of the thing--A languid, bored, inviting face, and two
dark curious eyes in a slow-driving brougham out on the Pyramid Road;
William's tender, answering smile; his horse galloping behind to within
a discreet distance of the palace, where the lady alighted, shadowed by
the black-coated eunuch. The same thing for several days, then a device
to let the lady know his name, then a little note half in Arabic, half
in French, so mysterious, so fascinating--William Sowerby walked on air!
Then, a nocturnal going forth, followed by his frightened servant, who
dared not give a warning, for fear of the ever-ready belt which had
scarred his back erstwhile; the palace wall, an opening door, the
figure of his master passing through, the closing gate; and then no
more--nothing more, for a long thirty-six hours!

Mahommed Yeleb's face would have been white if his skin had
permitted--it was a sickly yellow; his throat was guttural with anxiety,
his eyes furtive and strained, for was he not the servant of his master,
and might not he be marked for the early tomb if, as he was sure, his
master was gone that way?

"Aiwa, efendi, it is sure," he said to Dicky Donovan, who never was
surprised at anything that happened. He had no fear of anything that
breathed; and he kept his place with Ismail because he told the truth
pitilessly, was a poorer man than the Khedive's barber, and a beggar
beside the Chief Eunuch; also, because he had a real understanding of
the Oriental mind, together with a rich sense of humour.

"What is sure?" said Dicky to the Arab with assumed composure; for it
was important that he should show neither anxiety nor astonishment,
lest panic seize the man, and he should rush abroad with grave scandal
streaming from his mouth, and the English fat be in the Egyptian fire
for ever. "What is sure, Mahommed Yeleb?" repeated Dicky, lighting a
cigarette idly.

"It is as God wills; but as the tongue of man speaks, so is he--Bimbashi
Sowerby, my master--swallowed up these thirty-six hours in the tomb
prepared for him by Selamlik Pasha."

Dicky felt his eyelids twitch, and he almost gave a choking groan of
anxiety, for Selamlik Pasha would not spare the invader of his harem;
an English invader would be a delicate morsel for his pitiless soul.
He shuddered inwardly at the thought of what might have occurred, what