A solitary camel came into Mekran by the north gate, driven by a lean Baluch in a soiled yellow burnous and bearing upon its back a palanquin with curtains of faded silk. It ambled through the streets and knelt at the portals of the khan’s palace, where the curtains were drawn and an aged priest cautiously descended.
Before the entrance was drawn up a company of warriors of the Tribe of Agot, who solemnly saluted the new arrival and pressed backward that he might pass within.
The priest paused to note their splendid dress and brightly polished weapons, eyeing them with the simplicity of a child viewing his first pageant. His countenance was strangely sweet and guileless, although not lacking in dignity, and his white garb was of spotless purity. But above his breast—the focus of every eye of the true believer—hung suspended a jewelled star that proclaimed him the Grand Mufti of the Sunnite faith. No wonder the awed warriors pressed backward before the great Salaman, who had come all the way from his retreat at Takkatu to visit their khan.
Passing through the courtyard and up the marble stairway the venerable priest stopped often to mark the luxurious furnishings of the palace. The building itself was scarcely equal to his own monastery, but the splendor of its fittings was in strong contrast with the simplicity to which he was accustomed. The slave Memendama preceded him, pausing at every turn to salam before his master’s guest.
The ante-rooms were filled with sirdars and captains of the tribes, all resplendent in attire, as befitted the courtiers of a great khan. Within one alcove sat Agahr the Vizier, in deep converse with a group of greybeards who were evidently officers of rank. These also rose to bow before the priest, and Salaman stopped to read the vizier’s countenance with curious intentness. When he had passed Agahr looked after him with a troubled face, and the others, exchanging significant glances, left him and walked away.
At last Memendama stopped beside a portiere which he drew aside to allow the priest to enter. It was the private apartment of the khan.
Salaman, stepping within the small room, gave a shrewd glance around and allowed the semblance of a smile to flit across his grave features. The place was well lighted with high windows, although the afternoon already waned, but the walls and floor were bare and the furniture almost severe in character. Beside a wooden bench knelt the Khan, his head resting upon his outstretched arms and his body without motion.
The priest’s glance was almost tender as he softly crossed the chamber and seated himself within the embrasure of a window. The silence remained unbroken.
After a time the Khan moved and raised his head, fixing his eyes upon the white-robed priest. There was no start of surprise in his gaze. Very gently he arose, knelt again before Salaman and kissed with humility the hem of the priestly robe.
“You are here, my father,” he said, “and I am grateful.”
The priest laid his hand upon the bowed head.
“All is well, my son,” he answered. “Allah and the Prophet have given you guidance, and your days are righteous.” He paused a moment and then added: “We are pleased with Ahmed Khan.”
Again there followed a period of prolonged silence.
Then the young man asked:
“You know of my troubles, father?”
“Yes, dear Hafiz. The American girl is here in Mekran.”
“Is it not strange that she has come from across the world to the one place where I have found refuge?”
“The ways of Allah are good ways,” responded the priest, “and He holds the strands of fate in relentless hands. Your life is just beginning, my Hafiz.”
An eager look sprang to the young man’s eyes. He searched the calm countenance of Salaman as if he feared it might belie the speaker’s words.
“Do you bid me hope, my master?” he asked, in trembling tones.
A change came over the priest’s face. His eyes seemed masked with a delicate film that gave them far-seeing power. The lines of the aged features grew tense and hard, as if deprived of all nervous volition. His head fell slowly forward until the white beard swept to his knees and lay upon them like a drift of snow.
Hafiz drew back, clasping his knees with his hands and looking up at the entranced mufti with expectant gaze.
“The deeds of men bear fruit,” said the voice of the priest, sounding cold and unreal in the intense stillness, “and the sun of Allah’s will ripens it all together and brings it from many parts to be heaped within one measure. The harvest is near, my son. Events will crowd one another like waves lapping the pool’s edge, and from the midst of strife and bloodshed I see you rising calm and serene, with the mark of our gracious Prophet upon your brow.... The Voice of Allah whispers in my ears ... and all is well!”
Silence followed, and neither moved. A shadow crept over the windows, slowly dimming the light. An hour passed, and another. The room was dark now, and scarcely could the Khan discern the form of the priest seated before him. Blackness fell, and the stillness of death remained. From a neighboring minaret the hours chimed sweetly but all unheeded.
Then came a gleam of silver, striking aslant the priest’s face and crossing the room like a solid bar, its end melting against the further wall. The bar grew and spread as the moon rose higher, and soon the entire room was flooded with a mellow light that rendered every object distinctly visible.
As if the radiance brought life in its dancing beams the aged mufti breathed again and moved slightly in his seat. Hafiz, alert to mark the change, softly arose and went to an alcove, returning with a tray upon which was arranged a simple repast. This he placed upon a tabaret beside Salaman and then brought a bowl of water and a towel, bathing the hands and face of his master with a touch as tender as that of a woman. The priest’s expression was normal now, but very thoughtful. He ate sparingly of the food, and afterward the Khan also tasted the dish.
Then Hafiz, having carried away the tray, lighted a small lamp, green shaded, and both men approached the table and sat beside it.
“May I ask of Ahmed, my father?”
“He is now of the Imaum, well favored of the Prophet, his comrade, and happy in pursuit of a divine solution of the mysteries.”
“Here his gentle soul would have been cankered with misery.”
The priest nodded. Hafiz, after a hesitating look into the other’s face continued:
“I have placed a woman in my harem, father.”
A smile reassured him.
“All is known to me, my son,” came the calm reply. “But I must speak with you concerning the Vision with which Allah has just favored me. Your vizier is not a true man, dear Hafiz.”
“I have feared as much, my father, though striving to win him to me by many favors.”
“He plots for your destruction, urged to treachery by a maiden very beautiful to mortal eyes, but equally repulsive to the all-wise Allah.”
“It is his daughter,” said the Khan, musingly.
“I have seen a man riding from Agahr the vizier to the camp of Kasam. Listen well, my son, for the Vision was given me that you might have knowledge.”
In low tones Salaman now described the scenes he had witnessed in his trance, and the Khan attended gravely to each word of the recital, frowning at times, then smiling, and at the last giving a shudder of horror as the catastrophy was unfolded.
Afterward he sat long in deep thought, exclaiming at last, with a sigh of regret:
“These are evil days, my father!”
But the priest’s face shone calm and bright.
“No man knows content,” he answered, “who has never faced despair. The blessed Allah gives us night that we may welcome the dawn.”
Janet and Bessie had continued their morning rides with Dirrag, notwithstanding the unpleasant meeting with Prince Kasam, which, although duly reported by the warrior to the Khan, had not been deemed of sufficient importance to interrupt their pleasure.
But since then Dirrag had led them through the valley to the south and east, where the country was more thickly settled, and avoided riding very far from the walls.
However, on the morning following the arrival of the Grand Mufti Salaman at Mekran, Bessie pleaded with Dirrag to again take them up the westward slope, that they might once more look upon the camp of the Prince. Dirrag hesitated at first, but finally consented and turned the horses’ heads in that direction. The steeds of Mehmet, he reflected, were the fleetest in the khan’s dominions, and his own trusted cimeter would be equal to any emergency. Moreover, when a woman pleaded Dirrag’s heart was water, and Bessie was his favorite.
It was a beautiful morning, and the sun had just risen to cast a golden glow over the distant plain, where the white dots appeared to their eyes in increased numbers.
“Kasam’s army is growing,” said Bessie. “Surely there are many more tents than there were before.”
“The air may be filled with vultures, yet they dare not attack a living lion,” remarked Dirrag, quietly.
“But why shouldn’t Kasam himself be the lion?” she retorted. “Is he so much inferior to the mysterious Ahmed Khan?”
“The future will decide that,” said Dirrag. “Those who know my master have no fear of Kasam of Raab.”
After remaining a short time to watch the picturesque scene spread out before them they turned their horses to descend the hill. All three were busy with their own reflections, and had nearly reached the foot of the incline, with the walls of Mekran less than two miles away, when three mounted men who had been concealed in a thicket dashed out and, without warning, fell savagely upon the band. Two with drawn swords engaged Dirrag in fierce combat, while the third, coming beside Janet, dragged the girl from her horse, swept her across to his own saddle, and then galloped away with his victim clasped tight in his arms.
Bessie, reining in her horse, sat as if turned to stone, for she recognized in the abductor of Janet their old friend Prince Kasam.
With dull eyes and set face she followed the flight of his horse as he bounded up the hill with his burden, nor could the growls of Dirrag, who was engaged in beating down the swords of his assailants with mighty strokes, distract her from the more astounding sight.
Janet, unable to elude the fierce embrace of the man who held her, did not waste her strength in useless struggles. But after the first surprise of her capture had passed away she managed to find her voice, crying out:
“Release me, Prince Kasam!”
“Never!” he answered, exultantly. “You are mine, now—mine forever! And no earthly power shall ever tear you from my arms.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my tent, beloved, there to become my bride. Don’t you know that I love you—love you—love you!”
He repeated the words at each bound of his great black horse, pressing her yet closer to his breast, as if a madness possessed him.
“Never will I wed you!” gasped the frightened girl, trembling in spite of her effort at control. “You are a coward to seize me thus, and you are mad!”
“Yes, mad with love,” he answered in a desperate voice. “I cannot live without you, my Janet. Willing or unwilling, it matters not. You shall be mine, and mine alone!”
She turned and whispered a word in his ear. He laughed.
“So much the better, dear one. We shall not have to wait for a ceremony. This is not England, nor America, but wild, free Baluchistan, and I am master of a host. You are mine—you are mine—you are mine!”
He did not see a great bay speeding across from a neighboring grove to intercept his path. He was kissing the girl’s hair, her neck, her shoulders; hugging her fast in his wild embrace and blind to everything else.
The man upon the bay sat motionless, his huge, muscular frame bent slightly forward to favor the flight of his steed and his eyes fastened upon the Baluch prince and his fair burden.
The minutes were few before the noble bay of Mehmet pressed upon the flank of Kasam’s gelding; the abductor felt a stinging blow upon the neck that lifted him full from his saddle and set him headlong upon the ground; but as he fell Janet was seized in an iron grasp and torn from his arms, being instantly transferred to a seat upon the other horse.
The bay never paused in its rapid flight, but swerved and circled until its head was turned toward Mekran.
Janet, bewildered and stunned by the excitement of her adventure, for a time lay inert within the strong arms of her rescuer. Then, slowly and shyly, she turned her face to his, and meeting the look in his grey eyes she smiled happily and nestled her head against the man’s broad breast.
And it so happened that Ahmed Khan leaned over and kissed the white brow of the American girl just as his bay bore them past the spot where Dirrag stood with gory blade looking down upon the two motionless forms he had slain. Bessie had tumbled from her horse and lay in a heap upon the ground, sobbing as if her heart was broken.
The warrior smiled significantly as he looked after the flying form of his master. Then he turned and, not unkindly, shook the weeping girl’s shoulder.
“Come,” he said, “we will ride back alone to Mekran.”
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David brought the note, which he had received from the hands of the khan’s Arab slave, Memendama. It was in Janet’s clear script and read as follows:
“Do not worry about me in any way, for I am safe and happy. Of my own free will I have become an inmate of the harem of the Khan.”
Aunt Lucy gave a shriek and fell over backward upon the floor, where her heels beat a tattoo against the rug. No one paid the slightest attention to her. The Colonel stared straight ahead with stony eyes and a look of horror upon his face. The doctor stalked restlessly up and down the room with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, whistling softly to himself. Allison, stolid and unimpressed, lighted his pipe and puffed away with supreme nonchalance. Bessie had not yet recovered from the adventure of the morning. She lay face downward upon a divan and wept miserably.
Under these adverse circumstances Aunt Lucy’s fainting fit vanished. She sat up and glared wildly upon the perturbed group.
“This,” she announced, “is the result of travelling in heathenish and godless countries. We are ruined!”
Her brother waved his hand impatiently, but no one answered in words.
“And to think how that demure minx Janet has deceived me all these days and made me believe she was respectable! Oh, it is terrible.”
“Shut up!” said Allison, rudely.
“You’re a beast, that’s what you are!” retorted the old lady, white with fury, “and a fit brother for your designing sister. And to think that I’ve got myself mixed up with such a scandal. An American girl the inmate of a harem! What will be said when this news reaches New York? And Colonel Moore an officer of the great Metropolitan Construction Syndicate!”
“See here, Lucy,” warned her brother, “you keep mum until you know what you’re talking about. Janet is as good a girl as ever breathed.”
“Only de best gets into de khan’s harem,” remarked David, consolingly.
Aunt Lucy turned upon him like a tigress.
“It’s your doing, I’ll be bound,” she cried. “You’re a traitor!”
David winced a little, and studied the pattern in the rug.
“Now,” said the doctor, “it strikes me you’re getting nearer to the truth, except that David is too much of a fool to be a scoundrel, and so may escape suspicion. But I’m inclined to think there has been treachery in some quarter, and that Janet has been forcibly seized by the Khan. I wish there was an American or English consul in this forsaken town.”
“Her letter says she went willingly,” snapped Aunt Lucy, and the Colonel groaned at the suggestion.
“It was probably written under threat of death or torture,” replied the doctor, positively. “These Orientals are equal to any villainy. Knowing Janet as we do, and believing in her modesty and truth, it is absurd to interpret her letter in any other light. What do you think, Bessie?”
The girl shook her head, wiping the tears from her reddened eyelids.
“I don’t know, papa. There’s some dreadful mystery about it, I’m sure.”
“The thing to do,” said Aunt Lucy, “is to appeal to Prince Kasam. I never trusted that young man very much, but he’s been decently brought up in a civilized country, which is more than you can say for that awful khan. In the circumstances the Prince ought to be willing to help us rescue Janet.”
The Colonel stood up and brushed the gray locks from his forehead.
“I’ll find a way to get to Kasam at once,” he said, in a harsh and strained voice. “In which direction did you tell me, Bessie, his camp lies?”
She rose and walked steadily to the Colonel, putting her hands upon his shoulders and looking full into his eyes.
“I have not told you all the truth of what happened this morning,” she began, bravely. “It was Kasam and his men who first attacked us, and Kasam who bore Janet away while the others tried to kill Dirrag. Afterward the Khan appeared and rode after them, rescuing Janet just as they reached the top of the hill. Kasam must have been killed or dreadfully hurt, for we did not see him again. The rest happened as I told you. Dirrag cut down the two men and saluted the Khan as he rode by with Janet in his arms. I must have fainted just then, for I knew nothing of this; but Dirrag afterward assisted me to get home, and when I wept at the capture of Janet he told me to dry my eyes, for she had smiled when the Khan kissed her.”
“Impossible!” cried the Colonel.
“Dirrag is very honest,” returned Bessie, hesitatingly, “and he thinks the Khan carried her to his harem that she might be safe from Kasam. I will not say she did not object; but, Colonel, there has been something strange about Janet for some time—something I could not understand.”
“I thought she was happier,” said the Colonel, huskily; “that she was learning to forget.”
“She has laughed in her sleep,” continued Bessie; “she, who used to be so sad and melancholy. And only this morning she sang an old song as we galloped away from the town, and semed as light hearted as a child.”
The Colonel buried his face in his hands, and a sob rose to this throat.
“Oh, my girl—my dear little girl!” he murmured; “what can I do to save you!”
“Cheer up, Dad,” said Allison, brusquely. “There’s no use taking it so hard. What does it matter whether Janet’s in a harem or anywhere else, so long as she’s happy and content? My opinion is we’re wasting our pity on her. She isn’t the sort to write a letter under compulsion, and you know it as well as I do.”
“Really,” the doctor remarked, “I can’t understand the thing at all. If the girl had ever seen Ahmed Khan she might have fallen in love with him. It’s common report that he’s a fine looking fellow. But until today they were perfect strangers. H—m! Let me see. Wasn’t there some old romance in Janet’s life—some trouble or other?”
“Yes,” said the Colonel. “But that is past and gone—years ago. Yet she brooded upon it, doctor, and it may have driven her mad.”
“I’ve detected no signs of insanity in your daughter,” returned the doctor, rather nettled at the suggestion. “But Allison is right; there’s no use borrowing trouble over the matter until we know more. Perhaps we shall think of some way to communicate with her, or to force the Khan to give her up. We seem absurdly helpless in this tyrant-ridden town, although were we in any other country on earth we might easily assemble an army and rescue your daughter by force of arms, provided diplomacy failed. Kasam seems as impossible as the Khan, for Bessie’s story leads me to suspect he’s the greater scoundrel of the two.”
David had appeared ill at ease during this conversation. Now he rose from his seat and after a half frightened glance around announced in a timid voice:
“I haf a secret!”
“Has it anything to do with Janet Moore?” asked Aunt Lucy, in her sharpest tone.
“It iss a fine secret,” said David, fixing his little eyes upon the Colonel, “ant it is vort’ a t’ousand fillibees.”
The old lady gave a snort of contempt, but the Colonel seemed interested, and as he shrewdly examined the Jew’s face he noted great beads of perspiration standing upon his shiny forehead—a warrant that David, at least, was very much in earnest in his proposition. It was not impossible David had a secret, and that he considered it a dangerous one to disclose.
“Will you swear that your secret is worth a thousand fillibees to me?” he asked.
“Sure, most Excellency—if your daughter she is vort’ so much money,” earnestly answered the Jew.
“She is worth more,” declared the Colonel. “Tell me what you know, and you shall have the price you ask.”
But David only stood still and trembled, answering not a word.
“Bessie,” said the doctor, “take your Aunt Lucy into the next room, and keep out of earshot. We must have a business conference with David.”
When the women had gone the Colonel walked over to a desk and took from a drawer a long envelope filled with English bank-notes, which he carefully counted. They amounted to six hundred pounds. To these he added a roll of gold and brought all the money to David, placing it upon the table beside him.
“There, David, are a thousand fillibees, in good English and American money. It is yours if you can tell me how to rescue my child from the palace of the khan.”
David reached out his eager hands.
“Not yet,” cautioned the Colonel, sternly. “You must first prove that your knowledge is of value to us.”
The man drew back, discomfited.
“I vill nod risk mine head,” he said, doggedly, “unless I haf de moneys. Id iss more to you dan id iss to me. Gif me de t’ousant fillibees or I nod speak von vort!”
The Colonel returned to the desk and brought forth a revolver.
“You will tell me all you know,” he said, “or you will soon be a dead man, and then you won’t care for the money. And if you do not tell me the truth, if your secret is not worth to me this sum of money which you have demanded, you shall never leave this room alive. On the other hand, if you have not deceived me the money shall be yours. Take time to think it over, David, and be sure I will keep my word.”
David trembled anew, and cast a sly glance at the doctor, who looked as stern and determined as his terrible friend. Because of the excitement of the moment Allison had allowed his pipe to go out, and now sat regarding the Jew with a cruel smile upon his handsome features. Evidently these Americans were not to be trifled with. David looked longingly at the money, and gave a sigh. He was fairly trapped, and he knew it.
“Most Excellency,” he said, mopping his brow with a dirty red cloth, “tonight de vest gate of Mekran vill be open’t to Prince Kasam ant hiss army. De city vill be surprised.”
“Who will open the gate?” asked the Colonel.
David hesitated.
“Tell me!”
“De vizier,” whispered the Jew, with pallid lips.
“Well, and what then?”
“De Khan ant hiss people vill rush out of de palace to fight; but dey vill not be ready to fight, an’ Kasam vill cut dem down.”
“I see. And then?”
“Vhile de city iss in de uproar I leat you by a secret vay into de harem of de Khan. You vill take de girl ant carry her avay.”
“Very good. Are you sure you know this secret way, David?”
“Sure, most Excellency. I pait a high price to find it oudt. A t’ousant fillibees! Id iss too liddle, altogedder.”
The Colonel took a key from his pocket, unlocked the cabinet, and drew out David’s leathern pouch. Into this he stuffed the money—notes and gold together—and then replaced the pouch in the cabinet, locking it securely.
“You will be a rich man, David, when we return from the palace,” said he.
David clinched his hands and an angry look flashed in his beady eyes.
“Id iss nod right!” he protested. “You Americans do nod play de fair way, at all. You ged my secret ant you keep my moneys.”
“Only until we have proven you,” replied the Colonel. “If you are true, David, you will be rich. When are the gates to be opened?”
“Ad midnight.”
“All the gates?”
“Only de vest gade. De vizier, he vill trust no von bud himselfs.”
“Then how did you know of the plot?”
The Jew was silent.
“It will pay you to be honest, David.”
“De vizier musdt sent a man to de prince,” he said, reluctantly; “ant de man he owes me two golt fillibees. He tells me hiss message to de prince, ant I cancels de debt. Sullah ben cairno! id iss vell I did, for I safe mineself moneys. Ven de man comes back he hass a fit unt dies. De vizier he iss a cleffer excellency—bud nod so cleffer ass Davit.” He stopped to chuckle softly and rub his hands together; but suddenly he paused and cast a gloomy look at the cabinet.
The Colonel tossed him the key.
“Now you will know the money is surely yours,” he said. “Keep the key yourself, David, for you are going to stay here with us until after midnight. If you guide us safely to the harem you may go free. If we find you guilty of treachery I will put a bullet through your head. But in either event the key unlocks the cabinet and the money is now in your possession.”
David nodded and secreted the key in his bosom.
“I am true man,” he muttered. “Id iss impossible for me to deceive so great an excellency!”
“We three,” said the doctor, “will accompany David to the harem.”
Allison grew red and uncomfortable.
“One of us, sir, should remain here to guard the women. Let me stay. Surely my father and you will be able to look after David and bring Janet home in safety.”
“That is not a bad idea,” returned the doctor. “There will be wild times when Kasam’s army enters the city. It will be well for you to be on hand to protect Bessie and my sister from possible intruders.”
This being arranged to the young man’s satisfaction the elder gentlemen left the room to make preparations for their adventure, leaving Allison to smoke his pipe and keep an eye upon the slippery David.
When they were alone the Jew approached his companion and whispered:
“Tonighdt you vill be in de garden mit de vizier’s daughter.”
Allison’s face flushed with mingled fear and anger.
“What do you mean by that, you scoundrel?” he exclaimed.
“Davit knows!” chuckled the Jew, wagging his head. “Six time—sefen time—you meet mit Maie vhen no one knows bud Davit. Tonighdt you go again. She iss very lofely—very beaudiful! Ah, yes. Bud do nod fear. Davit vill say nodding—if he iss vell pait.”
“Well paid? So you intend to rob me, also, do you?”
“I am true man, Excellency. Your fadder should know; de vizier should know; bud Davit vill forget efferyt’ing if he hass a hundert fillibees.”
“A hundred fillibees! I haven’t so much.”
“Fifty, den. Fifty fillibees iss so small for so big a secret!”
“Very well; tomorrow you shall have them,” said Allison.
“Bud, most Excellency, suppose I shouldt remember tonighdt, ant your fadder ant de vizier shouldt know vot Davit knows? I cannod forget de secret unless I haf de fifty golden fillibees. I vouldt try, Excellency; I vouldt try hard; bud I could nod—could nod forget.”
Allison pulled at his pipe and thought it over, while the Jew stood cringing and smiling before him. Then he drew from his pocket all the gold and notes he could find and gave them into Davids hand.
“You’re making money fast, you dirty pig of a Jew,” he growled. “But watch out that you don’t lose it just as quickly. I’ll get even with you before I’m through.”
But David had other secrets, the thoughts of which made him accept the young man’s threat with a good grace. With evident delight he concealed the money in the bosom of his robe. It lay next to the hundred fillibees which Agahr the Vizier had given him that very morning. And the key to the cabinet was also in his possession.
David sighed from pure happiness, and sat down upon a chair to wait for the Colonel and the doctor.
“De easiest t’ing in de vorlt to sell,” he murmured, contentedly, “iss secrets!”
When Agahr entered his daughter’s apartment that night the girl sat propped with silken cushions while a female slave brushed and arranged the folds of her glossy hair and another woman sat at her feet to anoint them with pungent and sweet-smelling ointments. A shaded lamp of Egyptian design swung from the ceiling and cast a rosy hue over the group, and the air was redolent of the spicy perfumes of the East.
Agahr stood before his daughter for a time in silence, searching her fair and composed face with much earnestness. The soft, languorous eyes met his own frankly and lovingly, and she smiled until the dimples showed daintily in her pretty cheeks.
“You are welcome, oh my father,” she tenderly exclaimed.
He seated himself in a chair and waved the women away.
“You are about to retire, my Maie?” he asked, when they were alone.
“I am preparing for the night, dear one, but I shall not retire as yet. How could I sleep with our fortunes swinging with the pendulum of fate? This night we win or lose all.”
He did not reply, but sat moodily studying her expression, and she moved restlessly and turned her face slightly to the shade.
“Yet there is small risk of failure,” she continued, after a pause. “The Khan, secure in the strength of his loyal tribes, has neglected to prepare for immediate battle, and Kasam’s host, once inside the gate, will carry all before it.”
“And then?” he asked, gravely.
“Then Kasam will keep his promise, and make me his queen. It is the price we demanded for giving him his throne. And, through me, my father, you shall hereafter rule Mekran.”
The vizier sighed and stroked his beard.
“Are you willing to become Kasam’s queen when you know he loves the American girl whom he attempted to carry away by force? Will you be able, without his love, to bend him to your will?”
Maie laughed softly, clasping her jewelled fingers behind the folds of her hair.
“Let him love the American girl!” she answered, a touch of scorn in her voice. “While he dallies in her presence I will direct the affairs of state. Listen, my father, I have never loved Kasam from the first. Nor could that cold-eyed Ahmed Khan have ever won my heart. Yet to favor my ambition I would have mated with either one. The fates now favor Kasam, and if I cannot rule him through love I will rule him through cunning. The foreign girl will not stand in my way. In the harem of a khan are subtile poisons and daggers with needle points, and no dull-witted Western maiden can ever hope to oppose your Maie’s intrigues.”
Agahr stared at her as if afraid. The perfect repose of her features as she hissed the fiendish words struck a chill to his very bones.
“You are false as Iblis itself, my Maie,” he said. “How do I know you will sacrifice me, also, to your great ambition?”
“Have no fear, my father,” she returned, her low laugh rippling through the perfumed atmosphere. “You live but to please your Maie; would she foolishly betray her most faithful servant? We are one in all things.”
Again he sat silent, the frown growing upon his face. Perhaps he had begun to realize, for the first time in his life, that all this loveliness before him breathed passion and sensuality, but no warrant of a soul beneath its exquisite outlines. His child was beautiful, indeed; so beautiful that he had worshipped her as an angel of paradise, sent to comfort and console his old age. He had longed to see her acknowledged above all women of Baluchistan as the brightest star in the harem of the Khan himself—the greatest pride and glory a father and a true believer could conceive. He had plotted and planned to this end without regard or consideration for others: even with an humble subversion of self. But she had given him nothing in return. Her very love for him was more calculating than filial. And he knew her furtive mind so intimately that he might well doubt her truth.
“Since you were a child,” he said, musingly, “I have made you my comrade; more, my confidant. You were not treated like other women of Islam, but given the full freedom of my household. I have loaded you with jewels, with fine cloths from the looms of Persia, of Turkey and of China; with precious perfumes and cosmetics from Arabia. Your slaves are the loveliest maidens of Circassia and Morocco, purchased with vast sums to minister to your lightest whims. Even the harem of the Khan cannot boast a greater luxury than that which surrounds you. Yet you have dared to deceive me.”
The last words were spoken with impetuous force, as if evoked by a sudden thought. The lashes that veiled her eyes flickered slightly the accusation, but she made no other movement.
His voice grew stern.
“Tell me, why have you favored a dog of an infidel?”
“I, my father? I favor a dog of an infidel? Are you mad?”
“It has come to my ears,” he said, stiffly. “The young American who came here with Kasam.”
Maie stared at him as if amazed, as in truth she was. Then her head fell back and from her slender throat burst a peal of merriment that was well-nigh irresistible. She sprang up lightly, dropping her outer robe, and cast herself with abandon into the old man’s arms, clinging to his neck and nestling within his lap while her laughter filled his ears like the sweet chime of silver bells.
“Oh, my foolish, ridiculous old father!” she cried, while kissing his forehead and smoothing his beard over her bosom, like a mantle. “Has the serpent of folly bitten you? What monster of Agoum put such dreadful thoughts of your little Maie into your suspicious head? An infidel! Has the Prophet forsaken me? Were I lacking in any modesty—which Allah forbid!—would a daughter of Raab choose an infidel?”
Agahr held her tight, and his heart softened.
“The tale was brought to me, and I could not but doubt,” he said, doggedly. “But I am very glad to find you innocent, my precious one. Forget the words, Maie, for they were inspired by a lying tongue—one that I will tear out by the roots at tomorrow’s sunrise!”
He arose from his seat, clasping her in his arms like a little child, and carried her to a divan, where he gently laid her down. Then he bent over and kissed both her cheeks.
“I must go now,” said he. “Midnight approaches, and I must be at the gate to admit Kasam.”
“You will disguise yourself?” she asked, holding one of his hands as she gazed up at him.
“I shall cover my head with a cloak. Beni-Bouraz is Captain of the Guard, and he must know it is the Vizier who commands him to open. Afterward it will not matter who recognizes me.”
“Be careful,” she cautioned. “We must guard against treachery. Are you sure no one knows our plot?”
“The messenger who returned from Kasam is dead. Yamou attended to him.”
She nodded.
“Then go, my father; and may Allah guide your hand!”
Slowly he turned and without further word left the room. The passage was dark, and he stumbled along, feeling his way, until he came to the draperies that hid his own chamber. Having thrust these aside he entered to find the room well lighted but deserted by even his slaves.
Thoughtfully the old vizier sat at his table and pondered well the scene just enacted within his daughter’s boudoir. While in her presence he had seemed convinced of her innocence; but now the old doubts assailed him anew.
Presently his brow cleared. He reached out his hand and touched a soft-toned gong, and immediately the tall, dark figure of a Moor entered and made obeisance.
“Yamou,” said the vizier, “David the Jew was here this morning. He had a secret to sell. He swears that my daughter meets the young American infidel in my own garden, entering by the Gate of the Griffins.”
The black stood as if made of stone, not a muscle of his face moving.
“Have you known of this, Yamou?”
“No, my master.”
“It may not be true. David declared they will meet tonight—just before the midnight hour. You will take three of the most trusted slaves and at once hide yourselves in the shrubbery at the end of the garden. Remain there until daybreak, unless the infidel should indeed come.”
“And if he comes?”
“Kill him, Yamou!” said the old man, with sudden passion. “And if Maie goes to meet him kill her also. I’ll harbor no toy of an infidel dog in my household, even though it be my own daughter!”
Yamou bowed and touched the cimeter at his belt.
“You shall be obeyed, my master.”
Agahr glanced at the brutal visage of the Moor and hesitated, repenting already his command. But Maie had protested her innocence in no uncertain words. He would believe her. Should she prove false, the fate that would overtake her would be her own fault, and not to be laid at his door. But there! she was innocent, without a doubt. Her ambitions were too great to permit her to descend to so unnatural and foolish an intrigue. It would do no harm to wash the blemish of David’s lying tales from his daughter’s fair name by hiding the slaves in the shrubbery. If proof were needed, there would be the proof.
“You may go, Yamou.”
The slave salamed again, and noiselessly withdrew.
Left alone, Agahr drew a black cloak over his dress, arranging the folds to conceal his face and beard. Then he crept through an ante-room and along a short passage to a secret door that led into a small garden. Crossing this open space he unlocked a gate in the wall and so let himself into a lane that ran past the grounds of his mansion.
The streets seemed deserted and the night was very dark, for a storm was threatening. But Agahr knew every inch of his way and without hesitation threaded the narrow streets until he finally reached the west wall of the city.
Above the gate a dim light shone through the windows of the watch tower, and the vizier mounted the steep stone steps and pushed open the door.
Upon a bench sat two burly Baluchi, earnestly intent upon a game of dice. At the far end of the room, half hidden by the dim shadows, lay a dark group of slumbering guardsmen.
“Ah-yah!” called one of the dicers, as he noted the presence of a visitor; “what is wanted at this hour? None can pass the gate till daybreak.” And he calmly continued to toss the cubes.
Agahr walked up to him and threw back the folds of his cloak.
“The vizier!” cried both men, in a breath, and rose to their feet, saluting.
“Yes. Open the gate for me, Beni-Bouraz. I am to meet a friend here tonight.”
“But, master—”
“Silence! Do as I bid you, Captain. Open the gate.”
The officer bowed low. Then he walked to the end of the room and kicked two of his men.
“Get up, you dogs. His Excellency the Vizier commands the gate to be opened.”
They got upon their feet, growling at the summons, and shuffled over to the windlass. Beni-Bouraz released the bar, and the men began winding up the huge chain that raised the gate.
As he noted this, the vizier turned to descend.
“Come with me, Captain,” he said to Beni; “it may be necessary to hold the gate open for a time. I will myself give you the command to close it.”
The officer followed him down the stairs, and when they had disappeared from the room a big guardsman arose from the group of sleepers and, still muffled in his robe, followed after the captain. Also the others arose, seemingly alert, and by the light of the torch exchanged grins with the men at the windlass.
When Agahr paused before the heavily-barred gate it had already ascended toward the arch far enough to admit a horseman. Presently, with a final creak that sounded very audible in the stillness of the night, the windlass stopped and the gate remained poised in the archway.
Agahr bent forward, and heard the soft pattering of horses’ feet. The sound was repeated to the right and left, echoing far out upon the plains as if an army was awakening to action. Then the patter broke into a gallop, and a single horseman rode through the gate, a drawn sword clutched in his hand.
“Light a torch!” said the voice of Kasam. “My men cannot see this accursed gateway.”
Almost instantly a light flamed up behind them, and its red glow spread outside the gate and showed the plain fairly alive with a host of warriors.
“Advance!” shouted Kasam, and waved his sword around his head.
Then a strange denouement came. The immense gate, suddenly loosened from the tower, fell with a crash, crushing beneath its weight those of the front rank that already pressed forward to enter. A strong hand seized the prince and dragged him from his saddle, disarming him at the same instant.
And then a mighty shout burst from many throats, sounding from all the length of the great wall as well as from the horde that clamored helplessly without. Torches flashed, tom-toms were beat with lusty strokes and the alarm gong sent its warning tones reverberating throughout the city.
Agahr the Vizier was astounded. Even his sacred person had been seized and his limbs bound fast with strong cords. It had all happened so suddenly that the old man did not recover his wits until he heard the cries of Kasam’s host as it retreated before the hail of missiles descending from the wall.
Then he turned to confront the stern features of Ahmed Khan, and dropped his eyes before the gaze he encountered.
Kasam, also securely bound, stood with a look of sullen rage upon his handsome face, but proudly erect as ever.
“I am betrayed!” he muttered.
“I, also, Prince, was nearly betrayed,” replied the Khan, in a harsh voice. “The fortunes of war, in this benighted country, are often nursed by the hand of treachery. Fortunately for the safety of Mekran, I was warned in time.”
Kasam turned angrily upon the vizier.
“I owe this to you, I suppose!” he said, bitterly.
“My bonds will prove my faith,” returned Agahr, with dignity.
The Khan raised his hand, as if to command peace. The red light of the torch upon his face seemed to soften its sternness.
“That your disloyal plans have come to naught,” he said, in more kindly tones, “is due alone to the will of Allah. Come, Captain Beni-Bouraz; you may follow me with your prisoners to the palace.”
When her father had left her alone Maie lay still, for a time, in deep thought.
“It must be,” she reflected, “that our dear David, in spite of my bribes, has sold our secret to my father. For tonight, at least, I have lulled his suspicions. And he will soon be at the gate to admit Kasam; so I fear nothing. But the little David must not be able to annoy me again.”
With this came a thought whereat she laughed. Rising from her couch the girl went to a tiny cabinet and cautiously unlocked it. She busied herself there for several minutes, at times laughing softly to herself, but with no trace of merriment in the notes. Finally she clapped her hands to summon a maid.
“Bring here one of the slaves,” she commanded.
The girl withdrew, but presently returned alone.
“There are no slaves in the house, my mistress,” she reported.
“Indeed! My father must have taken them with him,” Maie replied. Then, after consideration, she added: “You will do as well, Halima; nay, perhaps better. Do you know David the Jew?”
“Yes, my mistress.”
“Then get your cloak and seek David out, wherever he may be. And, when you have found him, give to him this casket, Halima, with the greetings of the daughter of the vizier; and tell him it is a token of my faith in him.”
She brought from the cabinet a small box, exquisitely enamelled and inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“Keep it safely concealed in your cloak, Halima. It does not lock, but opens by pressing this spring—so!” The lid flew back, disclosing a quantity of gold and gems and a silken purse; and after permitting the girl to glance within she closed the cover, snapping it into place. “Now that you have seen the contents, my child, you will not care to open it again. Keep it well fastened until it is in David’s hands.”
The girl promised to obey, and taking the box started at once to perform her mission. It seemed to her a queer hour—the dead of night—to carry a present to a Jew; but the whims of Maie were past accounting for, and the duty of a slave was to obey without question.
Left to herself, Maie glanced at the hour-glass and hastily caught up the mantle which she had discarded the better to display her charms to her father. She wound the robe carelessly about her shoulders, pressed a panel in the wall, and gained egress by a narrow stairway to the gardens.
“It is very dark,” she murmured, feeling her way along a path; “but so much the better. My Allison will not need a light to know that it is I!”
Onward she crept, turning the angles of the hedges with unerring instinct, until she paused beneath a group of stately siszandras where the shadows were even deeper than elsewhere. But her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, soon made out the dim outlines of a stone bench, and she stooped and passed her hands along its length until she discovered that it was vacant.
“He is late,” she whispered; “or perhaps I am a moment early. He will come soon.”
Languidly she reclined upon the bench, her face turned toward the carved pillars that marked the Gate of the Griffins, standing but a few paces away like silhouettes against the murky sky.
After a few minutes’ lapse a key clicked in a lock; a stealthy foot-fall reached her ears, and the next moment a man knelt beside her.
“Ah, sweet one!” he whispered, clasping his arms around her yielding form and covering her face with kisses; “again for a few moments I may enjoy paradise with you by my side! I have been very impatient, my Maie, for this hour.”
“Yet you are late, Allison.” She spoke his name tenderly, and her broken English rendered the sibilant very charming in his ears.
“I may be a trifle late, little one, for I met several groups of men stealthily creeping through the darkness. I cannot understand why every warrior in the town seems abroad at this hour of the night.”
She sat up suddenly, clinging to him.
“Which way did they go?”
“To the westward, all of them,” he replied.
Somehow the words sent a chill to her heart, for she remembered her father’s mission to the west gate. Could their carefully guarded conspiracy have been betrayed? She listened eagerly, but all about them the town lay still as death. It was not yet midnight.
Her lover’s caresses recalled her to the present. Allison had drawn her closer beside him on the bench, and throwing back her mantle was pressing her passionately to his heart. Unresistingly she nestled in his arms, the dainty oriental perfumes that radiated from her body filling his nostrils with their ravishing odors and the soft contact of her cheek against his thrilling him with a joy akin to madness.
Words were barren messengers of love now; only the throbbing of his heart and her gentle sighs betrayed to the caressing breeze the fact that the bench was occupied.
Suddenly she shuddered, clutching at his hand so fiercely that her nails were imbedded in his flesh. A low moan escaped her lips, and then her grasp relaxed and she fell back limp and inert.
Filled with a nameless horror, Allison looked up. The sky had lightened, somewhat, permitting him to discern before them the form of a huge black, who held within his hand a dripping sword. Even as Allison gazed the weapon leaped back and came straight for his heart in a quick thrust. He shrank from the point, springing sideways, but could not wholly escape. A biting pain pierced his side. But now he was upon his feet, one hand pressing the wound and the other holding his revolver.
A shot rang out, followed by a scream. The black swayed and fell, but others rushed with naked cimeters to take his place. Allison leaned against the bench and fired again—and again—and again, a fierce joy filling his breast at the outcries of his victims, even while the blood surged through his brain and he felt the numbness of death creeping over him.
The shots from the revolver were answered by loud cries from the other end of the garden—that nearest the house. Torches flashed, sending gleams of light dancing over the flowers and grasses toward the silent group beside the stone bench. Then came Dirrag, bounding over the sward with a band of chosen warriors in his wake.
At the ghastly tableau which the lights disclosed they paused, looking on one another with horror in their eyes. And now the deep tones of the gong from the west gate smote upon the air, rousing with its brazen warning all the sleeping city. The far-away outlines of the wall sprang into flame, while the hoarse cry of a multitude rolled grimly out upon the midnight zephyrs.
In the garden of Agahr a grizzled warrior bent over Allison’s unconscious form.
“I think, my captain, the American still lives,” he said.
For a moment Dirrag did not reply. He was gazing sadly upon the lovely face of Maie, whereon still lingered the traces of a happy smile. But the dark eyes, inscrutable as ever, were wide and staring, and the warrior leaned over and gently covered the dainty form with the folds of her mantle.
Then he stood up and coughed, for the night air had gotten into his throat.
“Come along, you dogs!” he growled. “Let us report to the Khan. The conspirator he sent us to arrest has escaped him.”
“And the American?” asked a man.
“Oh, the American?” Dirrag hesitated, wondering how his master would desire him to act. “Well, bring the infidel dog along with you,” he said.
David was in high spirits. True, these absurd Americans had virtually made him a prisoner in their house until his services were required to lead them to the harem of the khan; but he had been clever enough to arrange all his plans beforehand. Now, as he sat in the dim room awaiting the hour of action, he felt he had good reason to congratulate himself. The service of the vizier had been especially remunerative, for in addition to his liberal pay as a spy he had that morning received from Maie a large sum to keep her secret, with a promise of more to follow, and then he had secured an equal sum from Agahr for betraying his daughter’s secret. Was that not clever? Allison, also, who now sat opposite him silently smoking and at times stealthily glancing at his watch, had contributed much money for the preservation of a secret that was a secret no longer. There were three good strings to that bow, thought David, chuckling delightedly. And now the old underground passage into the khan’s harem, which the Jew had discovered long ago and feared he would never have any use for, had paid him richer returns than all else. Mentally he figured up his various accumulations, both in money and jewels, and decided he was too rich to remain longer in Mekran. He would return very soon to Kelat, where there was more room for enterprise; or perhaps he would go on to Quettah, or even so far as—
“Come!” said the Colonel’s voice, its stern tones interrupting David’s meditations; “we are ready.”
Allison gave a sigh of relief, looked at his watch for the twentieth time, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He might be a trifle late, but Maie would wait.
“We will leave you to look after the women,” the Colonel said to his son. “Both the doctor and I are fully armed and will be equal to any occasion. But if David is right, and the night attack takes place on time, I anticipate no difficulty in getting Janet away from the harem.”
“Good luck to you,” said Allison, standing up to yawn and stretch his limbs.
“Have you a revolver?” asked the doctor, as his eyes wandered toward the rooms where his daughter and his sister slept.
“Always carry it,” said Allison.
“Then be watchful until we return. No one knows what may happen.”
“I’ll watch out,” said the young man, carelessly. And then, as David led the Colonel and the doctor to the street by one door, Allison slipped out at another and ran as speedily as possible in the direction of the vizier’s gardens.
David was short and fat, but he proved an agile walker, and the darkness of the night was no hindrance to his way. He led his companions through many black alleys, turning first one way and then another, until he finally paused before a small stone house that stood vacant and delapidated. Drawing a key from his pocket he unlocked the door and drew the others into a damp and close-smelling room.
A moment later he struck a match and lighted a candle.
“Now ve can see vhere ve go,” he said, complacently.
The Americans looked around them with some curiosity. Although doubtless of considerable age the house seemed never to have been finished inside, or even occupied as a place of abode. Bits of the building blocks were yet scattered over the earthen floor.
“Vonce, in de time of Keedar Khan,” said David, “a young kaid built dis house ant made a tunnel unner de grount to de khan’s harem, vhere hiss sveetheardt vas liffing. When she vas nod combing de vhiskers of de Khan she vas hugging de young kaid; ant vhen she vas nod hugging him she vas combing de Khan’s vhiskers. Id vas very nice arrangements. Bud von night de Khan called on de female vhen he vas nod expected, ant he cut de young kaid ant de girl both into slices before he enquired how de feller got into de harem. Id vas all very careless of de Khan; but he had a bad temper. So de tunnel vas neffer used again until I find it oudt a couple year ago. I buy de place cheap because de mans vot owned it neffer looked to find a tunnel. Ant now id iss very handy for us, ant very cheap for a t’ousant fillibees. Come—I show you.”
Chuckling softly, the Jew led the way through a narrow passage and down a few steps into a sort of underground cellar at the rear. Here, in one corner, a flagstone stood on edge, disclosing another flight of steps. Down these David proceeded without hesitation, the Americans following closely at his heels. Then came a damp, ill-smelling tunnel, so low that only David could traverse it without bending down. The candle lighted the way only a few steps in advance, and numerous rats scurried from their path as they slowly advanced.
It seemed like a never-ending journey; but, just as the Colonel was about to protest, the passage suddenly widened and grew higher, and the light of the candle fell upon a cedar panel let into the wall before them.
“Have you the key, David?” whispered the doctor.
“Id iss no key; id iss a spring,” replied the Jew. “Vod time iss id now?”
The Colonel looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight.
“Shall we risk entering, doctor?” he asked; “or shall we wait for the alarm?”
“I doubt if we could hear an alarm where we are,” was the answer. “Let us go in.”
David’s self-possession seemed suddenly to desert him.
“I iss no Moslem,” said he, beginning to tremble; “but I respect de harem. Id iss to die if one iss caught. Davit vill stay here ant vait for you.”
The doctor locked his fingers fast in the Jew’s collar.
“You’ll come with us,” he declared. “Open the door, David!”
Perhaps David did not intend to obey so readily. He had scarcely touched his quivering forefinger to the dull metal of the spring when a sharp click was heard and the door moved and swung outward.
A gleam of light saluted them, half dazzling their eyes, and the group remained motionless, staring wonderingly at the scene the open panel disclosed. Perhaps the Colonel had expected to see in the khan’s harem a mass of silken draperies, luxurious couches and priceless rugs, while scowling black eunuchs guarded with their naked swords a group of henna-dyed, be-painted and bespangled girls. Instead, he looked upon a scene that somehow reminded him of home. The furnishings were of an oriental character, it is true, but they were simple and in good taste, and an undefinable air of refinement pervaded the room.
Beside a table on which stood a bronze lamp sat a middle-aged lady with a beautiful face and sweet gray eyes. She was robed in a conventional European gown and seemed to be engaged, when so suddenly interrupted, in reading a well worn copy of the New York Herald. At her feet, upon a low stool, sat Janet, listlessly sewing upon some trifle that rested in her lap. On the other side of the table, his dark eyes fixed upon his work, sat the man we as yet know only as Merad, the Persian physician, busily engaged in writing.
At the abrupt opening of the panel, the existence of which was evidently unknown to them, the startled group turned wondering eyes upon the intruders, who seemed fully as astonished as themselves.
“God bless me!” cried the Colonel, partly recovering himself and stepping within the room. “Can it be you, Mrs. Osborne, in this impossible place?—And you, too, doctor!”
“Why, father! How did you ever get here?” exclaimed Janet, springing up to give him a warm embrace and a kiss.
And then the Colonel remembered, and a frown came over his face, succeeded by a puzzled expression.
“Isn’t this the khan’s harem?” he asked.
“I believe so,” returned Janet, laughing. And then Mrs. Osborne, with old-fashioned courtesy, came forward and offered the Colonel her hand, smiling pleasantly into his staring eyes. The man, also, rose from his seat to shake hands with both the Colonel and the doctor, the latter gentleman seeming to be more amused than surprised at the encounter.
“You have taken us somewhat by surprise, but you are welcome,” said Merad, in his deep, dignified tones, but speaking perfectly the English language. “I can appreciate your amazement at finding us in this place, for while we knew of your presence in Mekran, you were doubtless unaware that Mrs. Osborne and I are guests at the khan’s palace.”
“I—I can’t understand it!” gasped the Colonel.
“Janet, my dear,” said Mrs. Osborne, “will you try to find chairs for our friends?”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the doctor, looking around him rather nervously, “we came here to rescue Janet from the toils of an Eastern harem, and this is the most civilized looking place I’ve found in all Baluchistan. What does it all mean?”
“Permit me,” said Janet, saucily, “to introduce you to the mysterious veiled lady who was reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the world,” and she waved a hand toward Mrs. Osborne. “I will acknowledge that she is the most beautiful, but, daddy dear, I am myself the queen of the harem, and His Highness the Khan’s favorite wife—being at present the only one!”
The Colonel’s face expressed horror and grief.
“I—I don’t understand,” he muttered, vacantly.
“The explanation is very simple,” replied Dr. Osborne. “My son Howard, who was at one time your private secretary, is at present Khan of Mekran.”
A sudden stillness succeeded this announcement, and then a look of comprehension stole over the Colonel’s face. He rose from his chair and drew himself up with cold dignity.
“Then, sir, I demand to know what my daughter is doing in the house of the scoundrel who swindled me seven years ago? As for her statement that she is his wife, that is, of course, a lie!”
The Persian confronted him with folded arms, looking down upon the Colonel from his superior height with the same intent and compelling force in the dark eyes that had awed the native assemblage at the death-bed of Burah Khan.
“Howard Osborne is not a scoundrel,” he said.
“He is worse than that!” roared the choleric colonel, now beside himself with anger; “he is a thief, a forger and a coward. He signed my name for twenty thousand dollars, and ran away with the money. I have never seen his face from that day to this.”
“It is true that my son left New York with this stigma attached to his name,” said the other, calmly. “But he did it to save you, Piedmont Moore, from a still greater humiliation, although I vainly pleaded with him to consider his own family before yours.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the Colonel, plainly staggered at this statement.
Merad, hesitating for the first time, glanced at his wife, who shook her head pleadingly for him to hold his peace. But Janet sprang forward and stood erect beside him.
“Tell him!” she cried, defiantly. “The infamous secret has been kept too long.”
Then Merad spoke in a low, clear voice.
“Your own son was the forger,” he said.
“It’s a lie!” shouted the Colonel, shrinking back, nevertheless, from the Persian’s calm gaze.
“It is true. The money saved Allison from shame and exposure; so Howard dared not force him to return it. But the bank, being the direct victim of the forgery, placed the matter in the hands of the detective police. The toils were closing slowly but surely around your son when Howard, seeing no other way to save you, and tenderly loving the sister of the real criminal, whose heart he feared would be broken at the disclosure of her brother’s infamy, decided to save you all by acknowledging himself the forger. It was a rash idea, hastily conceived and executed in a panic of fear, for the detectives were close upon the trail. He left me a note, telling me the whole truth and begging me not to betray Allison, for he had fled the country and would never return. Well knowing that he did not realize the consequences of his generous act, his mother and I set out to follow him, and for seven long years we have striven in vain to regain our lost son. I will not bore you, Colonel Moore, with a recital of our anxieties and sufferings—borne on your account; but I think it ill becomes you to revile the name of Howard Osborne. Rather should you fall at his feet in gratitude for one of the most noble and unselfish acts any man has ever performed.”
The impressive and convincing tones carried with them the warrant of truth. The Colonel fell back upon his chair, covering his face with his hands, and Janet knelt beside him, her arms around his neck and her cheek to his, striving silently to comfort him. And while they remained thus, with little David gaping in the frame of the panel and still holding the flickering candle above his head, the door of the apartment suddenly opened and Ahmed Khan strode in.
One look into the grave faces of the group before him warned the ruler of Mekran that a crisis had arisen. Janet arose and stole swiftly to his side, and he placed an arm around her with a reassuring smile. The Colonel looked up, and meeting the calm grey eyes of Howard Osborne he seemed shaken with a fury of doubt and rage.
“It is all false!” he cried, springing to his feet. “I am being tricked and deceived—even by my own daughter. This fellow is no Khan of Mekran, but a fugitive from American justice, masquerading as a native of Baluchistan. The forger of seven years ago is the impostor of today! Come to me, Janet. That man is not worthy to touch you.”
“Worthy or unworthy,” said the girl, clinging yet closer to the Khan, “my place is by his side. We were married seven years ago, before he left America. I am his wife, father!”
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The silence that followed Janet’s declaration was broken by the tramp of feet along the connecting passage, followed by an abrupt knock upon the door.
The Persian opened it, glanced without, and then stood aside.
“Bring him in, Dirrag,” he said.
Slowly the little band of warriors entered, bearing between them a limp form which they laid gently upon a couch.
The Colonel’s face, as his staring eyes fell upon his son, was gray and haggard, but the old gentleman seemed to have exhausted his capacity for being surprised. Mrs. Osborne, with a shudder and a sympathetic moan, turned away weeping, but Janet crept close to the couch and gazed in mingled fright and horror upon her brother’s motionless form.
“Is he dead?” asked the Colonel, hoarsely.
“Not yet,” replied Dr. Warner, his hand on Allison’s heart; “but he is dying.”
“Where did you find him, Dirrag?” asked the Khan, in a quiet voice.
“In the vizier’s garden, your Highness. He was attacked by Agahr’s slaves, who likewise slew their master’s own daughter, Maie.”
The wounded man groaned, slightly moving his head.
“Stand back, all of you!” commanded the Colonel, with a sudden accession of his old brave spirit. And as they obeyed he himself approached the couch, a look of stern resolution upon his face. “Allison must speak, he must clear up this mystery before he dies.”
The Persian motioned all the warriors save Dirrag to leave the room. Then he drew from his robe a small phial and forced its contents between Allison’s set lips.
In a moment the young man groaned again, and then slowly opening his eyes, gazed vacantly upon the group around him.
“Allison,” said his father—firmly, but in a tone less harsh than before—“here is Howard Osborne, whom I always have accused of forging, seven years ago, my check for twenty thousand dollars. He claims that he is innocent.”
Allison moved restlessly, his eyes wandering from face to face as if in search of some one who was not present.
“I—I believe Howard is innocent,” he answered, with much difficulty.
“Who was the culprit, then?”
The wounded man stared back into his eyes, but made no reply.
“They say you are dying, my son,” continued the old man, gently, “and if you have done wrong—if you have ever deceived me—now is the time to confess all, and clear the name of an innocent man.”
Allison made a motion with his hand, wearily.
“Where is Maie?” he asked, “and why do you keep the place so cursed dark?”
The doctor placed an arm under his head, raising it slightly.
“Tell me, Allison,” pleaded the Colonel, “who forged that paper? Who was it, my son?”
“Why,—I did it, father.—It’s all over, now—only twenty thousand—not worth—fussing about. Maie! Are you there, my Maie?”
With the words he made an effort to rise, and a crimson stream gushed from his mouth and nostrils. The doctor laid him back upon the cushions, while the Persian sought to stay the hemorrhage with his handkerchief. But Allison was spent. His limbs twitched nervously once or twice, and after that he lay still.
The harem of the Khan had become a chamber of death.