flesh, where there was still a gap to be filled, and the cry rose up that
the Sheikh of the Dosah had left his tent and was about to begin his
direful ride.

Sadik the Mouffetish saw the Khedive's face, and suddenly said in his
ear: "Shall my slave seize him, Highness whom God preserve?"

The Khedive did not reply, for at that moment he recognised the dervish;
and now he understood that Dicky Donovan had made the pilgrimage to Mecca
with the Mahmal caravan; that an infidel had desecrated the holy city;
and that his Englishman had lied to him. His first impulse was to have
Dicky seized and cast to the crowd, to be torn to pieces. Dicky's eyes
met his without wavering--a desperate yet resolute look--and Ismail knew
that the little man would sell his life dearly, if he had but half a
chance. He also saw in Dicky's eyes the old honesty, the fearless
straightforwardness--and an appeal too, not humble, but still eager and
downright. Ismail's fury was great, for the blue devils had him by the
heels that day; but on the instant he saw the eyes of Sadik the
Mouffetish, and their cunning, cruelty, and soulless depravity, their
present search for a victim to his master's bad temper, acted at once
on Ismail's sense of humour. He saw that Sadik half suspected something,
he saw that Dicky's three companions suspected, and his mind was made up
on the instant--things should take their course--he would not interfere.
He looked Dicky squarely in the face, and Dicky knew that the Khedive's
glance said as plainly as words:

"Fool of an Englishman, go on! I will not kill you, but I will not save
you. The game is in your hands alone. You can only avert suspicion by
letting the Sheikh of the Dosah make a bridge of your back. Mecca is a
jest you must pay for."