The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 4Parker, Gilbert
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The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 4
Parker, Gilbert
Society of Friends -- Fiction
"And you want the game to go on right bad, don't you? Well, I guess
you're right. Money is the only winner in this race. He's got to have
money, sure. How much can you raise? Oh, yes, you told me! Well, I
don't think it's enough; he's got to have three times that; and if he
can't get it from the Government, or from Kaid, it's a bad lookout.
What's the bargain you have in your mind?"
"That the slave-trade continue, effendi."
Lacey did not wink, but he had a shock of surprise. On the instant he
saw the trap--for the Saadat and for himself.
"He would not do it--not for money, pasha."
"He would not be doing it for money. The time is not ripe for it, it is
too dangerous. There is a time for all things. If he will but wait!"
"I wouldn't like to be the man that'd name the thing to him. As you say,
he's got his prejudices. They're stronger than in most men."
"It need not be named to him. Thou canst accept the money for him, and
when thou art in the Soudan, and he is going to do it, thou canst prevent
it."
"Tell him that I've taken the money and that he's used it, and he
oughtn't to go back on the bargain I made for him? So that he'll be
bound by what I did?"
"It is the best way, effendi."
"He'd be annoyed," said Lacey with a patient sigh.
"He has a great soul; but sometimes he forgets that expediency is the
true policy."
"Yet he's done a lot of things without it. He's never failed in what he
set out to do. What he's done has been kicked over, but he's done it all
right, somehow, at last."
"He will not be able to do this, effendi, except with my help--and
thine."
"He's had quite a lot of things almost finished, too," said Lacey
reflectively, "and then a hand reached out in the dark and cut the wires
--cut them when he was sleeping, and he didn't know; cut them when he was
waking, and he wouldn't understand; cut them under his own eyes, and he
wouldn't see; because the hand that cut them was the hand of the perfect
friend."
He got slowly to his feet, as a cloud of colour drew over the face of
Nahoum and his eyes darkened with astonishment and anger. Lacey put his
hands in his pockets and waited till Nahoum also rose. Then he gathered
the other's eyes to his, and said with drawling scorn:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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