But the Sultan would not listen to his son, for he was very obstinate when once he had formed an opinion, and he ordered Omar to be taken away by force, and he went to his own room violently enraged with the Sultana, with whom he had lived in peace and happiness for the last five-and-twenty years. Of course Labakan accompanied him; but the Sultana remained behind in great grief, for she was absolutely certain that an impostor had gained the affection of the Sultan and ousted their own son. When her grief had somewhat subsided she set herself to think of means wherewith she could convince her husband of his error. This was a difficult task, for the dagger had been the token decided upon as a means of recognition, and moreover Omar had related so much of his early life to Labakan that the tailor was able to play his part without betraying himself. She called to her presence the men who had been with the Sultan at the Pillar of El-Serujah, in order to question them narrowly as to what had taken place there, and then she took counsel with her most confidential slaves. Many suggestions were offered, but at length an old Circassian woman asked: “Did not the bearer of the dagger say that he whom you regard as your son was in reality Labakan, a tailor’s apprentice?” “Yes, that is so,” replied the Sultana, “but I do not see what that has to do with the case.” “May it not be that he gave his own name and trade to your son?” said the slave. “If this is so, then I know of a plan by which we can detect the impostor, and which I will tell you of in secret.” The slave whispered her plan in the Sultana’s ear, and the mistress approved so well of it that she prepared herself at once to go into the Sultan’s presence. The Sultana was a wise woman, well knowing the Sultan’s weak points and how to take advantage of them, and so she pretended to yield her opinion and to be willing to accept the false son, merely making one condition. The Sultan, who regretted the anger he had shown towards his wife, readily agreed to let her make her own condition. “Well,” said she, “we will set the two claimants a task. Anyone can manage a horse or throw a spear; but I have hit upon something more difficult. We will see which of them shall make the best caftan and a pair of trousers.” The Sultan laughed good-naturedly: “And so my son is to compete with your crazy tailor,” he said. “Well, be it as you will, but if the tailor makes ever so fine a caftan I will not own him as a son.” The Sultan went to his son and begged him to gratify the whim of his mother who wished for a caftan made by the hands of her son. Labakan laughed for joy. If it only depended on that, he thought, then the Sultana would very speedily be well pleased with him.