of trade,” the Arab called it—Mr. Warburton paid a thumping ransom for his daughter.
“He furthermore guaranteed,” Musa Al-Mutasim wound up, “that, if I surrendered to the Tamerlanistan authorities, my life would be safe.”
What the Arab did not explain was his reasoning for the latter resolve. He did not explain that, never before, had he realized that there was as much money in the world as Mr. Warburton was paying as ransom for his daughter, nor, if there were, that anybody should have as little sense as to pay it out. He had therefore considered Warburton what an American would have called an “easy mark,” and had proposed to stick to him, through thick and thin, as a financial prospect far more promising and much less dangerous than border brigandage.
There was of course his former companion in crime, Abderrahman Yahiah Khan; but, very much as the latter had been ready to sacrifice him during the interview with Hector in the mausoleum, so he was willing to sacrifice the governor for his own advantage. In the Orient, at least, it is not true that there is honor amongst thieves—nor, perhaps, in the Occident.
“Aziza Nurmahal,” he said; and to Hector, the words sounded suspiciously like those which the governor of the western marches had used, “I have been bad and wicked. Now I have reformed. Command me—”
“To do what?” asked the princess.
“To bring peace to the western marches that—alas!—
