equanimity by the thought. Lacey eyed him meditatively, and said
reflectively: "Say, you're an artist, pasha. You are a guesser of the
first rank. But I'd guess again. Higli Pasha would have done it, if it
had ever occurred to him; and he'd had the pluck. But it didn't, and he
hadn't. What I can't understand is that the artist that did it should
have done it before Claridge Pasha left for the Soudan. Here we were
just about to start; and if we'd got away south, the job would have done
more harm, and the Saadat would have been out of the way. No, I can't
understand why the firebug didn't let us get clean away; for if the
Saadat stays here, he'll be where he can stop the underground mining."

Nahoum's self-control did not desert him, though he fully realised that
this man suspected him. On the surface Lacey was right. It would have
seemed better to let David go, and destroy his work afterwards, but he
had been moved by other considerations, and his design was deep. His
own emissaries were in the Soudan, announcing David's determination to
abolish slavery, secretly stirring up feeling against him, preparing for
the final blow to be delivered, when he went again among the southern
tribes. He had waited and waited, and now the time was come. Had he,
Nahoum, not agreed with David that the time had come for the slave-trade
to go? Had he not encouraged him to take this bold step, in the sure
belief that it would overwhelm him, and bring him an ignominious death,
embittered by total failure of all he had tried to do?

For years he had secretly loosened the foundations of David's work, and
the triumph of Oriental duplicity over Western civilisation and integrity
was sweet in his mouth. And now there was reason to believe that, at
last, Kaid was turning against the Inglesi. Everything would come at
once. If all that he had planned was successful, even this man before
him should aid in his master's destruction.