The Conspirators
"There is yet time," said the woman. "Monsieur O'Rourke has pledged me his word. For the present it is sufficient."
"It is understood that he does not leave, of course, without taking the oath," Aziz insisted surlily.
"Oh, that is very true," some one agreed. "Let us return to the point at issue, messieurs."
"A place for O'Rourke Pasha," Viazma suggested.
"He is welcome to my chair, messieurs," said the woman. "I have important matters to look to, but will rejoin the council before long."
She threw O'Rourke a lightning glance; and he gathered, but with some distrust, that she was plotting an escape for him.
"But that chair is at the head of the table," interposed the Greek manufacturer, with a doubtful glance to Arabi Pasha.
"Precisely," assented O'Rourke promptly. With two steps, he advanced and took the chair in question. It was the one nearest the door. What matter if Arabi Pasha objected?
The rest were seating themselves. O'Rourke put himself into the chair weightily, his eye on the Greek merchant's greasy face.
"Where O'Rourke sits," he told him with meaning, "is the head of the table."
The remark passed unregarded, save by the Greek and Prince Viazma, who took the vacant place at O'Rourke's left. A buzz of discussion, in a babel of Arabic, Greek, and French, had started up; O'Rourke caught the name of Lord Cromer several times, but paid it little heed. He was occupied in furtively taking in the essential features of the scene. He must get away without compromising himself by an oath of allegiance to the conspiracy.
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