“When you had goaded him beyond endurance by your taunts and your threats of whipping and slavery. You thought he would not touch you, because he has wonderful command of his temper; but you found out your mistake when he fastened his hands on your throat.” “He told you of that? He boasted of it?” “Never a word of it have I received from him. Brad Buckhart told me.” “That fellow? Well, what I have in store for him is only second to what shall befall Merriwell. I was not carried into captivity. I am here, and I have struck a blow. The end will come soon.” “How you escaped I do not know, but——” “I will tell you. I know many Turks of influence. I have had dealings with the Turkish secret police, and——” “Through your lies the secret police compelled Dick, Brad and Professor Gunn to leave Constantinople,” interrupted Nadia. The Spaniard smiled in a satisfied manner. “I think the information I furnished led to their being warned to leave the city,” he bowed. “Let me go on. Knowing a number of Turkish gentlemen of rank, I was able to impress old Ali Beha, the chief of the Bedouins, who had been commanded to sell me into slavery. I saw my only hope was to bribe and frighten the ignorant old chief into releasing me. That was no simple matter, for Ali Beha feared the sheik, Ras al Had. However, all the wires I worked as best I knew how. I talked to Ali Beha and told him how, if my Turkish friends ever learned what had happened, they would be furious and seek to have him punished. I told him that Ras al Had was now an outcast, having slain Hafsa Pasha. I told him he was aiding the accomplices of Ras al Had to escape, which would enrage the sultan when he learned what had taken place. I offered bribes and made promises. Ali Beha seemed immovable, and I was in despair. “Think of me, a helpless captive, believing I was doomed to slavery in burning Arabia! The thought of such a fate maddened me. I nearly lost my reason. At times I raved and prayed. But through it all I kept saying I would live to be revenged on Dick Merriwell.” “It was the fate you first devised for him,” said the girl, “and your suffering was your punishment.” Bunol snapped his fingers. “Whenever I recovered from those fits of despair,” he continued, “something seemed to whisper in my ear that there was yet hope and that I would not become a slave. I did not know Ali Beha had sent two of his men on fleet horses to Damascus to investigate my statements; but this was what he had done. He waited for those men to return. They came back in time, and they informed him that it was true that Ras al Had had become an outcast, having slain Hafsa Pasha on account of an old score. They also told the sheik that they had found I was known to the Turks I had claimed as my friends.