sure sign that Koom Khan and the Sheik-ul-Islam had come as friends, bringing peace.
Too, there was no doubt whatsoever about the priest's sincerity as, late that night, with the Babu Bansi playing as dragoman, he poured the tale of his grievances into the, if not sympathetic, then at least interested, ears of the eccentric millionaire, telling him how Hector Wade had treated him with contumely and ridicule, making him, a priest, a holy man, a Sheik of the Faith, a doctor of Koranic law, a famous compiler of many learned commentaries on Moslem theology, a laughing-stock before the courtiers and palace slaves.
“Al Nakia is a pig,” he wound up, “with a pig's heart. So was his father a pig before him, and his grandfather before his father.”
A statement in which, after the Babu had translated it, Mr. Preserved Higgins concurred heartily.
“Right-oh!” he replied. “Can't myke it too strong for me, cocky. I was born orf Soho, and I don't like that there Al Nakia bird any more than you do!”—and he clapped the Sheik-ul-Islam familiarly on the shoulder.
The latter could not understand a word of English, but he read in the Cockney's small, blinking eyes that there was no difference of opinion here about the physical and spiritual characteristics of the de facto ruler of Tamerlanistan, and so he added, as a happy afterthought, that he personally—and Allah was his witness that he was a decent and mild man, not given to vituperation-considered Al Nakia hyena spawn
