One day, at a great review, when the roar of the drums rivalled the hoarse shouts of the Mahdists, and the Baggaras, for a diversion, looted one quarter of the town, Macnamara was told by his master that Slatin had been given by the Khalifa to Mahommed Sherif, and was going to Darfur. As a kind of farewell barbecue, whether or not intended by the Khalifa as a warning to his departing general, ten prisoners had their feet and hands cut off in the Beit-el-Mal, and five lost their heads as well as their hands and feet. “It makes my blood run cold,” said Slatin softly in English, as Macnamara passed him, walking at his master’s stirrup. “Mine’s boilin’, sir!” answered Macnamara. Slatin’s eyes took on a more cheerful look than they usually carried, for it was many a day since he had been addressed with respect, and the “sir” touched a mellow chord within him--memory of the days when he was Governor of Darfur. Suddenly he saw the Khalifa’s eyes fixed on Macnamara, and the look, for a wonder, was not unfriendly. It came to him that perhaps the Khalifa meant to take Macnamara for his own servant, for it flattered his vanity to have a white man at his stirrup and on his mat. He knew that the Khalifa was only sending himself to Darfur that he might be a check upon Mahommed Sherif. He did not think that Macnamara’s position would be greatly bettered, save perhaps in bread and onions, by being taken into the employ of the Khalifa. His life would certainly not be safer. But, if it was to be, perhaps he could do a good turn to Macnamara by warning him, by planting deep in the Khalifa’s mind the Irishman’s simple-minded trustworthiness. When, therefore, the Khalifa suddenly turned and asked him about Macnamara he chose his words discreetly. The Khalifa, ever suspicious, said that Macnamara had been thrown into prison twice for insubordination. To this Slatin replied: “Sire, what greater proof could be had of the man’s simplicity? His life is in your hands, sire. Would he have risked it, had he not been the most simpleminded of men? But you who read men’s hearts, sire, as others read a book, you know if I speak truth.” Slatin bent his head in humility. The flattery pleased the Khalifa. “Summon Osman Wad Adam and the man to me,” he said. In the questioning that followed, Macnamara’s Arabic and his understanding of it was so bad that it was necessary for Slatin to ask him questions in English. This was a test of Macnamara, for Slatin said some things in English which were not for the Khalifa’s knowing. If Macnamara’s face changed, if he started, Abdullah’s suspicions, ever ready, would have taken form. But Macnamara’s wits were not wool-gathering, and when Slatin said to him, “If I escape, I will try to arrange yours,” Macnamara replied, with a respectful but placid stolidity: “Right, sir. Where does the old sinner keep his spoof?”