Mizraim’s eyes glittered-the dull black shine of a mongrel terrier’s. He caught the sleeve of Nahoum’s coat and kissed it, then kissed his hand. Thus was their bargain made over the dead body; and Mizraim had an almost superstitious reverence for the fulfilment of a bond, the one virtue rarely found in the Oriental. Nothing else had he, but of all men in Egypt he was the best instrument Nahoum could have chosen; and of all men in Egypt he was the one man who could surely help him. “What is there now to do, excellency?” “My coachman is with the carriage at the gate by which the English girl left. It is open still. The key is in Foorgat’s pocket, no doubt; stolen by him, no doubt also.... This is my design. Thou wilt drive him”--he pointed to the body--“to his palace, seated in the carriage as though he were alive. There is a secret entrance. The bowab of the gate will show the way; I know it not. But who will deny thee? Thou comest from high places--from Kaid. Who will speak of this? Will the bowab? In the morning Foorgat will be found dead in his bed! The slight bruise thou canst heal--thou canst?” Mizraim nodded. “I can smooth it from the sharpest eye.” “At dawn he will be found dead; but at dawn I shall be knocking at his gates. Before the world knows I shall be in possession. All that is his shall be mine, for at once the men of law shall be summoned, and my inheritance secured before Kaid shall even know of his death. I shall take my chances for my life.” “And the coachman, and the bowab, and others it may be?” “Shall not these be with thee--thou, Kaid’s keeper of the harem, the lion at the door of his garden of women? Would it be strange that Foorgat, who ever flew at fruit above his head, perilous to get or keep, should be found on forbidden ground, or in design upon it? Would it be strange to the bowab or the slave that he should return with thee stark and still? They would but count it mercy of Kaid that he was not given to the serpents of the Nile. A word from thee--would one open his mouth? Would not the shadow of thy hand, of the swift doom, be over them? Would not a handful of gold bind them to me? Is not the man dead? Are they not mine--mine to bind or break as I will?” “So be it! Wisdom is of thee as the breath of man is his life. I will drive Foorgat Bey to his home.” A few moments later all that was left of Foorgat Bey was sitting in his carriage beside Mizraim the Chief Eunuch--sitting upright, stony, and still, and in such wise was driven swiftly to his palace. CHAPTER VIII. FOR HIS SOUL’S SAKE AND THE LAND’S SAKE