Cards on the Table
"Well, perhaps Abbas does. It belonged to the wife of Iskander ibn Tahir. He bought it back, in the Kashgar bazaar. And he has kept it. You know the fate in store for a man who violates the home of an Arab of high birth?" While he spoke, he put his hand on the necklace. Monsey's eyes widened a little, and he licked his full lips. Then he shook his head.
"Not good enough. You can't bluff me."
"I am not bluffing. Whatever happens to Miss Rand, your life is forfeit. It is beyond my saving."
So calmly he spoke, he seemed to be explaining the inevitable. Edith felt this and Monsey was silent a space. As if finished with the business of the necklace, Donovan tossed it, still rolled tightly, into Edith's lap.
"Presents from such a man as Iskander have a meaning," he said.
Donovan had not looked at her. Monsey took the words to himself, but the girl glanced up with awakened curiosity. Abbas would have picked up the necklace, but the Englishman turned to him sharply.
"Mahmoud is coming for you, Abbas," he said in Turki. "Are you ready?"
The simple speech caused the Alaman to draw a long breath and to step back instinctively. Edith wondered whether it was surprise at being addressed in his own tongue. But she remembered the fear that had flashed into the face of the Sart upon the mountain side. The name of the physician seemed to carry a potent spell.
Edith drew the necklace under her lace shawl. Here her quick fingers explored its folds tentatively and she felt a piece of paper crumpled within the jade ornaments. Eagerly she separated the wad of paper from
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