“Thus so much better able to judge the strength—and the weaknesses of the saheb-log!”
“But remember!” argued Koom Khan. “Abderrahman Yahiah Khan is spreading the tale that thou art an impostor—that the Englishman whom Higgins saheb has brought is the true 'Expected One!'”
Again Hector played up to his rôle, which by this time had become second nature to him. He drew the ancient sword from its sheath with a dramatic flourish.
“Here is the proof that I am the 'Expected One!'” he said.
“Proof enough for us,” rejoined Koom Khan. “But—thou knowest how it is. The masses, the people, are like sheep. If the governor of the western marches, with the help of Higgins saheb's money bags and the unknown saheb's war prowess, should make a sudden descent upon us and snatch victory out of our fingers, then, before we shall be able to rally for a counter-stroke, the masses will swing to him. They will say that, blade or no blade, thou art an impostor. And then”—he shrugged his massive shoulders—“I love thee well, my lord—I would not care to see the little, little jackals gorge themselves on thy bleeding, headless trunk—”
“Nor shalt thou see it,” replied Hector. “I tell thee I have considered everything. When I fight Abderrahman Yahiah Khan, I shall fight him on ground of my own choosing, and not on ground of his choosing”—and he whispered certain instructions to Koom Khan, which sent the latter to his headquarters with a chuckle and the parting words that Al Nakia was indeed
