“Then behold, pasha. Are not my spies in all the Palace? Is not my scourge heavier than the whip of the horned horse? Ki di, so it is. This I have found. Sharif hath, with others, made a plot which hath enough powder in it to shake Egypt, and toss thee from thy high place into the depths. There is a Christian--an Armenian, as it chances; but he was chosen because he was a Christian, and for that only. His name is Rahib. He is a tent-maker. He had three sons. They did kill an effendi who had cheated them of their land. Two of them were hanged last week; the other, caught but a few days since, is to hang within three days. To-day Kaid goes to the Mosque of Mahmoud, as is the custom at this festival. The old man hath been persuaded to attempt the life of Kaid, upon condition that his son--his Benjamin--is set free. It will be but an attempt at Kaid’s life, no more; but the cry will go forth that a Christian did the thing; and the Muslim flame will leap high.” “And the tent-maker?” asked Nahoum musingly, though he was turning over the tale in his mind, seeing behind it and its far consequences. “Malaish, what does it matter! But he is to escape, and they are to hang another Christian in his stead for the attempt on Kaid. It hath no skill, but it would suffice. With the dervishes gone malboos, and the faithful drunk with piety--canst thou not see the issue, pasha? Blood will be shed.” “The Jews of Europe would be angry,” said Nahoum grimly but evenly. “The loans have been many, and Kaid has given a lien by the new canal at Suez. The Jews will be angry,” he repeated, “and for every drop of Christian blood shed there would be a lanced vein here. But that would not bring back Nahoum Pasha,” he continued cynically. “Well, this is thy story, Mizraim; this is what they would do. Now what hast thou done to stop their doing?” “Am I not a Muslim? Shall I give Sharif to the Nile?” Nahoum smiled darkly. “There is a simpler way. Thy mind ever runs on the bowstring and the sword. These are great, but there is a greater. It is the mocking finger. At midnight, when Kaid goes to the Mosque Mahmoud, a finger will mock the plotters till they are buried in confusion. Thou knowest the governor of the prisons--has he not need of something? Hath he never sought favours of thee?” “Bismillah, but a week ago!” “Then, listen, thou shepherd of the sheep--” He paused, as there came a tap at the door, and a slave entered hurriedly and addressed Nahoum. “The effendi, Ebn Ezra Bey, whom thou didst set me to watch, he hath entered the Palace, and asks for the Effendina.” Nahoum started, and his face clouded, but his eyes flashed fire. He tossed the slave a coin. “Thou hast done well. Where is he now?” “He waits in the hall, where is the statue of Mehemet Ali and the lions.” “In an hour, Mizraim, thou shalt hear what I intend. Peace be to thee!”