which first attracted Musa Al-Mutasim's special attention.
“A foreigner,” he said. “A saheb—yes!” His gray eyes lit up as they roamed to the glimpse of golden hair and milky skin between the curtains of the litter. “And a foreign woman—a mem-saheb!”
“We are in luck!” laughed Abderrahman Yahiah Khan, “for it is easy to lie to a saheb. Too easy!" he added, almost regretfully, like a man who is wasting his God-given talent on an unappreciative audience.
And, a few minutes later, he and “The Basin” salaamed before the foreigner, their arms folded across their breasts in sign of fealty and humility, and imploring the saheb for permission to join his caravan as far as the capital. For, to quote Abderrahman Yahiah Khan's words, a wise man “muddies his trail.”
The Baluchi, who was the leader of the caravan and who had a fair knowledge of English, acted as dragoman, and it is a moot question whether it was through intention or accident that Musa Al-Mutasim let him see the bulging middle of a well-filled purse.
At all events, the Baluchi, whose name was Nureddin Zaid, seconded the prayers of the two men.
“They are poor, Warburton saheb,” he said. “They ask you for your protection. They say that you are their father and their mother …”
“How gorgeously thrilling, dad!” came a soft voice from the litter, and Jane looked down. “Why, I always thought that I was all the family you had—and here you are father and mother to …”
Mr. Warburton made an impatient gesture.
