The strange girl stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth and laughed until her face was fairly purple. Her whole body shook with merriment. Nadia’s bewilderment increased. “I don’t know why you laugh. It’s a fearful thing to be imprisoned in a harem. Hafsa Pasha has bought you, and you must submit to him. You must be a faithful wife, imprisoned within a harem.” “Oh, a fine old wife I’ll make!” chuckled the other. “Oh, dear! It’s a mighty dangerous lark, but it’s awful funny, just the same.” Suddenly Nadia clutched her companion’s shoulder. “Tell me who you are!” she commanded. “All right. Keep your nerve. Don’t utter a sound. Are you ready?” Nadia nodded. “I am Dick Merriwell.” The girl almost fainted. “Dick?” she gasped—“Dick? Impossible! Yet—yet I believe you—you are! Why, how——” “Can’t explain in full. Fooled old Hafsa. If Ras al Had does not fail me we’ll have you out of this before morning. If Hafsa only knew——” A sound behind him caused Dick to turn and spring up. The door had opened to admit Hafsa Pasha himself, and his face was contorted with rage. He glared at Dick. “So you did fool me, did you?” he snarled. “You thought I could not hear your words, but there is a place in this wall where a person listening outside may hear and understand the softest whisper spoken here. You deceived me, but it will cost you your life!” He drew a knife. From some part of his clothes Dick Merriwell whipped forth a heavy revolver, which he leveled at the Turk’s heart. “Halt right where you are!” he commanded clearly. “Another step and I’ll drill a hole through your dastardly heart! I came prepared for any emergency.” Hafsa Pasha uttered a cry. It was answered somewhere outside the room. But at that moment there came from a distant portion of the house the sound of heavy, crashing blows. The Turk turned pale. “What’s that?” he gasped. “I have an idea it is Ras al Had,” said Dick. “Stop! Stand in your tracks! Try to leave the room and I’ll drop you!” The noise ended in one great crash. Then came the soft shuffle of many unbooted feet. “Hither, sheik!” cried Dick. There was a struggle outside, smothered cries, a fall. Then Ras al Had, backed by several black men, together with Brad Buckhart and Dunbar Budthorne, appeared at the door. “Still safe, boy?” said the old Arab. “I dared not wait. I had located the maiden’s prison, and I sent one of my servants to bring her friends from the hotel. Then the carriage came, and I saw you enter, accompanied by him. I feared longer delay would be fatal for you. We broke down the door. It seems that we entered just in time.” Hafsa Pasha was yellow with rage. “You old scum of the desert!” he cried. “You are behind it all! It is your trick!” “I have not forgotten the fate of my brother, Pasha. His blood still cries aloud for vengeance.” “I’ll send you to join him!”