are game in Egypt. You're the only man in office who hasn't
got rich out of her, and--"

"I'm not in office."

"You're the power behind the throne, you're--"

"I'm helpless--worse than helpless, Yankee. I've spent years of my life
here. I've tried to be of some use, and play a good game for England;
and keep a conscience too, but it's been no real good. I've only staved
off the crash. I'm helpless, now. That's why I'm here."

He leaned forward, and looked out of the minaret and down towards the
great locked gates of the empty mosque.

Renshaw put his hand on Dicky's shoulder. "It's the man in white yonder
you're after?"

Dicky nodded. "It was no use as long as she lived. But she's dead--her
face was under that old Persian shawl--and I'm going to try it on."

"Try what on?"

"Last night I heard she was sick. I heard at noon to-day that she was
gone; and then I got you to come out and see the view!"

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Make him come back."

"From where?"

"From the native quarter and the bazaars. He was for years in Abdin
Palace."

"What do you want him for?"

"It's a little gamble for Egypt. There's no man in Egypt Ismail loves
and fears so much--"

"Except little Dicky Donovan!"

"That's all twaddle. There's no man Ismail fears so much, because
he's the idol of the cafes and the bazaars. He's the Egyptian in Egypt
to-day. You talk about me? Why, I'm the foreigner, the Turk, the robber,
the man that holds the lash over Egypt. I'd go like a wisp of straw if
there was an uprising."

"Will there be an uprising?" The Southerner's fingers moved as though
they were feeling a pistol.

"As sure as that pyramid stands. Everything depends on the kind of
uprising. I want one kind. There may be another."

"That's what you are here for?"

"Exactly."

"Who is he?"

"Wait."

"What is his story?"

"She was." He nodded towards the funeral procession.

"Who was she?"

"She was a slave." Then, after a pause, "She was a genius too. She saw
what was in him. She was waiting--but death couldn't wait, so... Every
thing depends. What she asked him to do, he'll do."

"But if she didn't ask?"

"That's it. She was sick only seventeen hours--sick unto death. If she
didn't ask, he may come my way."

Again Dicky leaned out of the minaret, and looked down towards the gates
of the mosque, where the old gatekeeper lounged half-asleep. The noise
of the-procession had died away almost, had then