"Pish! Go to the Khedive with the tale, and I will kill the man within
the hour, and tell it abroad, and we shall see where Donovan Pasha will
stand to-morrow. The Khedive is not stronger than his people--and there
are the French, and others!" He spat upon the floor at Dicky's feet.
"Go, tell the Khedive what you will, dog of an Englishman, son of a dog
with a dog's heart!" Dicky took a step forward, with an ominous flare of
colour in his cheek. There was a table between him and Selamlik Pasha.
He put both hands upon it, and leaning over said in a voice of steel:

"So be it, then. Shall I go to the Khedive and say that this night
Mustapha Bey, eldest and chosen son of Selamlik Pasha, the darling of his
fat heart, was seized by the Chief Eunuch, the gentle Mizraim, in the
harem of his Highness? Shall I tell him that, Trousers?"

As Dicky spoke, slowly, calmly, Selamlik Pasha turned a greenish-yellow,
his eyes started from his head, his hand chafed the air.

"Mustapha Bey--Khedive's harem!" he stammered in a husky voice.

"By the gentle Mizraim, I said," answered Dicky. "Is Mustapha Bey's life
worth an hour's purchase? Is Selamlik Pasha safe?"

"Is--is he dead?" gasped the cowardly Egyptian, furtively glancing
towards the door. Suddenly he fell back fainting, and Dicky threw some
water in his face, then set a cup of it beside him.

"Drink, and pull yourself together, if you would save yourself," said
Dicky.

"Save--save myself," said Selamlik Pasha, recovering; then, with quick