“You screamed,” said the chief. “A mouse,” simpered one of the beauties. “And you all saw it at the same time?” “Yes,” answered another. “And did the mouse wear this?” he asked, holding up a hat, which Max had dropped on the floor. Poor Max! He had never missed his hat. He had carried it under his arm when he entered the _salon_. So excited was he at the sight of Lalla, that he dropped his _chapeau_ and never missed it. The women could not explain how it came about that a mouse wore a soft felt helmet. The eunuch took his scimiter and started on his mission of discovery. He slashed at every piece of drapery which he thought might cover a man, and was approaching the place where Max was hidden, when Lalla fell on her knees. “Oh, spare him!” “Who do you mean?” “He came here, I know not why; I hid him. I never saw him before, but he is so handsome! Do not kill him.” “Get up,” ordered the eunuch, gruffly. Max emerged from his hiding place, and stood with arms folded before the servants of the pasha. “I am to blame. I was pursued. I fell in your cellar and was trying to get away. I found myself here by mistake. Do with me as you like.” “Don’t hurt him,” pleaded Lalla, and all the others took up the prayer. But the men were inexorable, they knew their duty. “He must die,” said they. “No, no, no!” shrieked the women, but in the midst of their cries Max was seized, his hands tied by his sides, after which he was carried down the steps into the great noisome cellar by which he had entered. Max did not try to bribe his captors. He never made a sound, but kept his teeth close together. “If I die,” he thought, “they shall see I can die game.” But he felt that he had not a hope nor a chance to escape, when they produced a great sack and covered him with it. Tying the mouth of the sack above his head, they lifted him shoulder high, and he soon felt the strange sensation of being whirled through space. His senses were almost numbed when he realized that he was in water. He had been thrown into the Nile! CHAPTER XXIX. SAVED! Barbasson and Shula were walking along the banks of the Nile discussing the best way to assist the Mahdi. Shula was for openly proclaiming the advent of the prophet, and calling on all good religionists to rally round his standard. But Barbasson was crafty. He was richer than Shula, and not so hot-headed. “If the Mahdi wins that would be a good plan, but if he fails----” “He won’t fail.” “I hope not; but suppose he did?” “Well?” “We should lose our property, and perhaps----” “Our lives. Just so. I am ready to risk that.” “I am not; I have a great horror of death.” “Yourself, perhaps, my worthy Barbasson; but you don’t mind killing others,” Shula retorted, sharply. “What mean you?” “Why, Barbasson, don’t you know?” “By the beard of the prophet, no!” “Then let me remind you. Four moons ago I was watching a dahabeah on the Nile; I saw something bulky thrown overboard----”