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A Tyrant And A Lady
by
As they steamed away Kingsley looked in vain to the house on the shore. There was no face at window or door, no sign of life about the place.
“Well, my bold bey,” said Donovan Pasha to him at last, “what do you think of Egypt now?”
“I’m not thinking of Egypt now.”
“Did the lady deeply sympathise? Did your prescription work?”
“You know it didn’t. Nothing worked. This fool Foulik came at the wrong moment.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. You see you were playing with marked cards, and that is embarrassing. You got a certificate of character by–“
“Yes, I know. That’s what she said. Never mind. I’ve played as I meant to play, and I’ll abide the result. I said I’d marry her, and I mean to, though she gently showed me the door–beautiful, proud person!”
“She is much too good for you.”
“What does that matter, if she doesn’t think so?”
“My opinion is she’ll never touch you or your slave-gold with a mile-measure.”
Dicky did not think this, but it was his way of easing his own mind. Inwardly he was studying the situation, and wondering how he could put Kingsley’s business straight.
“She thinks I’m still a ‘slave-driver,’ as she calls it–women are so innocent. You did your part, as well as could be expected, I’m bound to say. I only wish I wasn’t so much trouble to you. I owe you a lot, Dicky Pasha–everything! You got me the golden shillings to start with; you had faith in me; you opened the way to fortune, to the thing that’s more than fortune–to success.”
“I’m not altogether proud of you. You’ve messed things to-day.”
“I’ll set them right to-morrow–with your help. Ismail is going a bit large this time.”
“He is an Oriental. A life or two–think of Sadik Pasha. Your men–“
“Well? You think he’d do it–think he’d dare to do it?”
“Suppose they disappeared? Who could prove that Ismail did it? And if it could be proved–they’re his own subjects, and the Nile is near! Who can say him nay?”
“I fancy you could–and I would.”
“I can do something. I’ve done a little in my day; but my day, like Ismail’s, is declining. They are his subjects, and he needs money, and he puts a price on their heads–that’s about the size of it. Question How much will you have to pay? How much have you in Cairo at the bank?”
“Only about ten thousand pounds.”
“He’d take your draft on England, but he’ll have that ten thousand pounds, if he can get it.”
“That doesn’t matter, but as for my arrest–“
“A trick, on some trumped-up charge. If he can hold you long enough to get some of your cash, that’s all he wants. He knows he’s got no jurisdiction over you–not a day’s hold. He knows you’d give a good deal to save your men.”
“Poor devils! But to be beaten by this Egyptian bulldozer–not if I know it, Dicky”
“Still, it may be expensive.”
“Ah!” Kingsley Bey sighed, and his face was clouded, but Dicky knew he was not thinking of Ismail or the blackmail. His eyes were on the house by the shore, now disappearing, as they rounded a point of land.
“Ah” said Donovan Pasha, but he did not sigh.
III
“Ah!” said a lady, in a dirty pink house at Assiout, with an accent which betrayed a discovery and a resolution, “I will do it. I may be of use some way or another. The Khedive won’t dare–but still the times are desperate. As Donovan Pasha said, it isn’t easy holding down the safety-valve all the time, and when it flies off, there will be dark days for all of us…. An old friend–bad as he is! Yes, I will go.”
Within forty-eight hours of Donovan Pasha’s and Kingsley Bey’s arrival in Cairo the lady appeared there, and made inquiries of her friends. No one knew anything. She went to the Consulate, and was told that Kingsley Bey was still in prison, that the Consulate had not yet taken action.