“And if he comes?”
“Kill him, Yamou!” said the old man, with sudden passion. “And if Maie goes to meet him kill her also. I’ll harbor no toy of an infidel dog in my household, even though it be my own daughter!”
Yamou bowed and touched the cimeter at his belt.
“You shall be obeyed, my master.”
Agahr glanced at the brutal visage of the Moor and hesitated, repenting already his command. But Maie had protested her innocence in no uncertain words. He would believe her. Should she prove false, the fate that would overtake her would be her own fault, and not to be laid at his door. But there! she was innocent, without a doubt. Her ambitions were too great to permit her to descend to so unnatural and foolish an intrigue. It would do no harm to wash the blemish of David’s lying tales from his daughter’s fair name by hiding the slaves in the shrubbery. If proof were needed, there would be the proof.
“You may go, Yamou.”
The slave salamed again, and noiselessly withdrew.
Left alone, Agahr drew a black cloak over his dress, arranging the folds to conceal his face and beard. Then he crept through an ante-room and along a short passage to a secret door that led into a smallgarden. Crossing this open space he unlocked a gate in the wall and so let himself into a lane that ran past the grounds of his mansion.
The streets seemed deserted and the night was very dark, for a storm was threatening. But Agahr knew every inch of his way and without hesitation threaded the narrow streets until he finally reached the west wall of the city.
Above the gate a dim light shone through the windows of the watch tower, and the vizier mounted the steep stone steps and pushed open the door.
Upon a bench sat two burly Baluchi, earnestly intent upon a game of dice. At the far end of the room, half hidden by the dim shadows, lay a dark group of slumbering guardsmen.
“Ah-yah!” called one of the dicers, as he noted the presence of a visitor; “what is wanted at this hour? None can pass the gate till daybreak.” And he calmly continued to toss the cubes.
Agahr walked up to him and threw back the folds of his cloak.
“The vizier!” cried both men, in a breath, and rose to their feet, saluting.
“Yes. Open the gate for me, Beni-Bouraz. I am to meet a friend here tonight.”
“But, master—”
“Silence! Do as I bid you, Captain. Open the gate.”
The officer bowed low. Then he walked to the end of the room and kicked two of his men.
“Get up, you dogs. His Excellency the Vizier commands the gate to be opened.”
They got upon their feet, growling at the summons, and shuffled over to the windlass. Beni-Bouraz released the bar, and the men began winding up the huge chain that raised the gate.
As he noted this, the vizier turned to descend.
“Come with me, Captain,” he said to Beni; “it may be necessary to hold the gate open for a time. I will myself give you the command to close it.”
The officer followed him down the stairs, and when they had disappeared from theroom a big guardsman arose from the group of sleepers and, still muffled in his robe, followed after the captain. Also the others arose, seemingly alert, and by the light of the torch exchanged grins with the men at the windlass.
When Agahr paused before the heavily-barred gate it had already ascended toward the arch far enough to admit a horseman. Presently, with a final creak that sounded very audible in the stillness of the night, the windlass stopped and the gate remained poised in the archway.
Agahr bent forward, and heard the soft pattering of horses’ feet. The sound was repeated to the right and left, echoing far out upon the plains as if an army was awakening to action. Then the patter broke into a gallop, and a single horseman rode through the gate, a drawn sword clutched in his hand.
“Light a torch!” said the voice of Kasam. “My men cannot see this accursed gateway.”
Almost instantly a light flamed up behind them, and its red glow spread outsidethe gate and showed the plain fairly alive with a host of warriors.
“Advance!” shouted Kasam, and waved his sword around his head.
Then a strange denouement came. The immense gate, suddenly loosened from the tower, fell with a crash, crushing beneath its weight those of the front rank that already pressed forward to enter. A strong hand seized the prince and dragged him from his saddle, disarming him at the same instant.
And then a mighty shout burst from many throats, sounding from all the length of the great wall as well as from the horde that clamored helplessly without. Torches flashed, tom-toms were beat with lusty strokes and the alarm gong sent its warning tones reverberating throughout the city.
Agahr the Vizier was astounded. Even his sacred person had been seized and his limbs bound fast with strong cords. It had all happened so suddenly that the old man did not recover his wits until he heard the cries of Kasam’s host as it retreated beforethe hail of missiles descending from the wall.
Then he turned to confront the stern features of Ahmed Khan, and dropped his eyes before the gaze he encountered.
Kasam, also securely bound, stood with a look of sullen rage upon his handsome face, but proudly erect as ever.
“I am betrayed!” he muttered.
“I, also, Prince, was nearly betrayed,” replied the Khan, in a harsh voice. “The fortunes of war, in this benighted country, are often nursed by the hand of treachery. Fortunately for the safety of Mekran, I was warned in time.”
Kasam turned angrily upon the vizier.
“I owe this to you, I suppose!” he said, bitterly.
“My bonds will prove my faith,” returned Agahr, with dignity.
The Khan raised his hand, as if to command peace. The red light of the torch upon his face seemed to soften its sternness.
“That your disloyal plans have come to naught,” he said, in more kindly tones, “isdue alone to the will of Allah. Come, Captain Beni-Bouraz; you may follow me with your prisoners to the palace.”
When her father had left her alone Maie lay still, for a time, in deep thought.
“It must be,” she reflected, “that our dear David, in spite of my bribes, has sold our secret to my father. For tonight, at least, I have lulled his suspicions. And he will soon be at the gate to admit Kasam; so I fear nothing. But the little David must not be able to annoy me again.”
With this came a thought whereat she laughed. Rising from her couch the girl went to a tiny cabinet and cautiously unlocked it. She busied herself there for several minutes, at times laughing softly to herself, but with no trace of merriment in the notes. Finally she clapped her hands to summon a maid.
“Bring here one of the slaves,” she commanded.
The girl withdrew, but presently returned alone.
“There are no slaves in the house, my mistress,” she reported.
“Indeed! My father must have taken them with him,” Maie replied. Then, after consideration, she added: “You will do as well, Halima; nay, perhaps better. Do you know David the Jew?”
“Yes, my mistress.”
“Then get your cloak and seek David out, wherever he may be. And, when you have found him, give to him this casket, Halima, with the greetings of the daughter of the vizier; and tell him it is a token of my faith in him.”
She brought from the cabinet a small box, exquisitely enamelled and inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“Keep it safely concealed in your cloak, Halima. It does not lock, but opens by pressing this spring—so!” The lid flew back, disclosing a quantity of gold and gems and a silken purse; and after permitting the girl to glance within she closed the cover, snapping it into place. “Now thatyou have seen the contents, my child, you will not care to open it again. Keep it well fastened until it is in David’s hands.”
The girl promised to obey, and taking the box started at once to perform her mission. It seemed to her a queer hour—the dead of night—to carry a present to a Jew; but the whims of Maie were past accounting for, and the duty of a slave was to obey without question.
Left to herself, Maie glanced at the hour-glass and hastily caught up the mantle which she had discarded the better to display her charms to her father. She wound the robe carelessly about her shoulders, pressed a panel in the wall, and gained egress by a narrow stairway to the gardens.
“It is very dark,” she murmured, feeling her way along a path; “but so much the better. My Allison will not need a light to know that it is I!”
Onward she crept, turning the angles of the hedges with unerring instinct, until she paused beneath a group of stately siszandras where the shadows were even deeperthan elsewhere. But her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, soon made out the dim outlines of a stone bench, and she stooped and passed her hands along its length until she discovered that it was vacant.
“He is late,” she whispered; “or perhaps I am a moment early. He will come soon.”
Languidly she reclined upon the bench, her face turned toward the carved pillars that marked the Gate of the Griffins, standing but a few paces away like silhouettes against the murky sky.
After a few minutes’ lapse a key clicked in a lock; a stealthy foot-fall reached her ears, and the next moment a man knelt beside her.
“Ah, sweet one!” he whispered, clasping his arms around her yielding form and covering her face with kisses; “again for a few moments I may enjoy paradise with you by my side! I have been very impatient, my Maie, for this hour.”
“Yet you are late, Allison.” She spoke his name tenderly, and her broken Englishrendered the sibilant very charming in his ears.
“I may be a trifle late, little one, for I met several groups of men stealthily creeping through the darkness. I cannot understand why every warrior in the town seems abroad at this hour of the night.”
She sat up suddenly, clinging to him.
“Which way did they go?”
“To the westward, all of them,” he replied.
Somehow the words sent a chill to her heart, for she remembered her father’s mission to the west gate. Could their carefully guarded conspiracy have been betrayed? She listened eagerly, but all about them the town lay still as death. It was not yet midnight.
Her lover’s caresses recalled her to the present. Allison had drawn her closer beside him on the bench, and throwing back her mantle was pressing her passionately to his heart. Unresistingly she nestled in his arms, the dainty oriental perfumes that radiated from her body filling his nostrils with their ravishing odors and the soft contactof her cheek against his thrilling him with a joy akin to madness.
Words were barren messengers of love now; only the throbbing of his heart and her gentle sighs betrayed to the caressing breeze the fact that the bench was occupied.
Suddenly she shuddered, clutching at his hand so fiercely that her nails were imbedded in his flesh. A low moan escaped her lips, and then her grasp relaxed and she fell back limp and inert.
Filled with a nameless horror, Allison looked up. The sky had lightened, somewhat, permitting him to discern before them the form of a huge black, who held within his hand a dripping sword. Even as Allison gazed the weapon leaped back and came straight for his heart in a quick thrust. He shrank from the point, springing sideways, but could not wholly escape. A biting pain pierced his side. But now he was upon his feet, one hand pressing the wound and the other holding his revolver.
A shot rang out, followed by a scream. The black swayed and fell, but others rushed with naked cimeters to take hisplace. Allison leaned against the bench and fired again—and again—and again, a fierce joy filling his breast at the outcries of his victims, even while the blood surged through his brain and he felt the numbness of death creeping over him.
The shots from the revolver were answered by loud cries from the other end of the garden—that nearest the house. Torches flashed, sending gleams of light dancing over the flowers and grasses toward the silent group beside the stone bench. Then came Dirrag, bounding over the sward with a band of chosen warriors in his wake.
At the ghastly tableau which the lights disclosed they paused, looking on one another with horror in their eyes. And now the deep tones of the gong from the west gate smote upon the air, rousing with its brazen warning all the sleeping city. The far-away outlines of the wall sprang into flame, while the hoarse cry of a multitude rolled grimly out upon the midnight zephyrs.
In the garden of Agahr a grizzled warriorbent over Allison’s unconscious form.
“I think, my captain, the American still lives,” he said.
For a moment Dirrag did not reply. He was gazing sadly upon the lovely face of Maie, whereon still lingered the traces of a happy smile. But the dark eyes, inscrutable as ever, were wide and staring, and the warrior leaned over and gently covered the dainty form with the folds of her mantle.
Then he stood up and coughed, for the night air had gotten into his throat.
“Come along, you dogs!” he growled. “Let us report to the Khan. The conspirator he sent us to arrest has escaped him.”
“And the American?” asked a man.
“Oh, the American?” Dirrag hesitated, wondering how his master would desire him to act. “Well, bring the infidel dog along with you,” he said.
David was in high spirits. True, these absurd Americans had virtually made him a prisoner in their house until his services were required to lead them to the harem of the khan; but he had been clever enough to arrange all his plans beforehand. Now, as he sat in the dim room awaiting the hour of action, he felt he had good reason to congratulate himself. The service of the vizier had been especially remunerative, for in addition to his liberal pay as a spy he had that morning received from Maie a large sum to keep her secret, with a promise of more to follow, and then he had secured an equal sum from Agahr for betraying his daughter’s secret. Was that not clever? Allison, also, who now sat opposite him silently smoking and at times stealthily glancing at his watch, had contributedmuch money for the preservation of a secret that was a secret no longer. There were three good strings to that bow, thought David, chuckling delightedly. And now the old underground passage into the khan’s harem, which the Jew had discovered long ago and feared he would never have any use for, had paid him richer returns than all else. Mentally he figured up his various accumulations, both in money and jewels, and decided he was too rich to remain longer in Mekran. He would return very soon to Kelat, where there was more room for enterprise; or perhaps he would go on to Quettah, or even so far as—
“Come!” said the Colonel’s voice, its stern tones interrupting David’s meditations; “we are ready.”
Allison gave a sigh of relief, looked at his watch for the twentieth time, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He might be a trifle late, but Maie would wait.
“We will leave you to look after the women,” the Colonel said to his son. “Both the doctor and I are fully armed and willbe equal to any occasion. But if David is right, and the night attack takes place on time, I anticipate no difficulty in getting Janet away from the harem.”
“Good luck to you,” said Allison, standing up to yawn and stretch his limbs.
“Have you a revolver?” asked the doctor, as his eyes wandered toward the rooms where his daughter and his sister slept.
“Always carry it,” said Allison.
“Then be watchful until we return. No one knows what may happen.”
“I’ll watch out,” said the young man, carelessly. And then, as David led the Colonel and the doctor to the street by one door, Allison slipped out at another and ran as speedily as possible in the direction of the vizier’s gardens.
David was short and fat, but he proved an agile walker, and the darkness of the night was no hindrance to his way. He led his companions through many black alleys, turning first one way and then another, until he finally paused before a small stone house that stood vacant and delapidated. Drawing a key from his pocket he unlockedthe door and drew the others into a damp and close-smelling room.
A moment later he struck a match and lighted a candle.
“Now ve can see vhere ve go,” he said, complacently.
The Americans looked around them with some curiosity. Although doubtless of considerable age the house seemed never to have been finished inside, or even occupied as a place of abode. Bits of the building blocks were yet scattered over the earthen floor.
“Vonce, in de time of Keedar Khan,” said David, “a young kaid built dis house ant made a tunnel unner de grount to de khan’s harem, vhere hiss sveetheardt vas liffing. When she vas nod combing de vhiskers of de Khan she vas hugging de young kaid; ant vhen she vas nod hugging him she vas combing de Khan’s vhiskers. Id vas very nice arrangements. Bud von night de Khan called on de female vhen he vas nod expected, ant he cut de young kaid ant de girl both into slices before he enquired how de feller got into de harem.Id vas all very careless of de Khan; but he had a bad temper. So de tunnel vas neffer used again until I find it oudt a couple year ago. I buy de place cheap because de mans vot owned it neffer looked to find a tunnel. Ant now id iss very handy for us, ant very cheap for a t’ousant fillibees. Come—I show you.”
Chuckling softly, the Jew led the way through a narrow passage and down a few steps into a sort of underground cellar at the rear. Here, in one corner, a flagstone stood on edge, disclosing another flight of steps. Down these David proceeded without hesitation, the Americans following closely at his heels. Then came a damp, ill-smelling tunnel, so low that only David could traverse it without bending down. The candle lighted the way only a few steps in advance, and numerous rats scurried from their path as they slowly advanced.
It seemed like a never-ending journey; but, just as the Colonel was about to protest, the passage suddenly widened and grew higher, and the light of the candlefell upon a cedar panel let into the wall before them.
“Have you the key, David?” whispered the doctor.
“Id iss no key; id iss a spring,” replied the Jew. “Vod time iss id now?”
The Colonel looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight.
“Shall we risk entering, doctor?” he asked; “or shall we wait for the alarm?”
“I doubt if we could hear an alarm where we are,” was the answer. “Let us go in.”
David’s self-possession seemed suddenly to desert him.
“I iss no Moslem,” said he, beginning to tremble; “but I respect de harem. Id iss to die if one iss caught. Davit vill stay here ant vait for you.”
The doctor locked his fingers fast in the Jew’s collar.
“You’ll come with us,” he declared. “Open the door, David!”
Perhaps David did not intend to obey so readily. He had scarcely touched his quivering forefinger to the dull metal ofthe spring when a sharp click was heard and the door moved and swung outward.
A gleam of light saluted them, half dazzling their eyes, and the group remained motionless, staring wonderingly at the scene the open panel disclosed. Perhaps the Colonel had expected to see in the khan’s harem a mass of silken draperies, luxurious couches and priceless rugs, while scowling black eunuchs guarded with their naked swords a group of henna-dyed, be-painted and bespangled girls. Instead, he looked upon a scene that somehow reminded him of home. The furnishings were of an oriental character, it is true, but they were simple and in good taste, and an undefinable air of refinement pervaded the room.
Beside a table on which stood a bronze lamp sat a middle-aged lady with a beautiful face and sweet gray eyes. She was robed in a conventional European gown and seemed to be engaged, when so suddenly interrupted, in reading a well worn copy of the New York Herald. At her feet, upon a low stool, sat Janet, listlessly sewingupon some trifle that rested in her lap. On the other side of the table, his dark eyes fixed upon his work, sat the man we as yet know only as Merad, the Persian physician, busily engaged in writing.
At the abrupt opening of the panel, the existence of which was evidently unknown to them, the startled group turned wondering eyes upon the intruders, who seemed fully as astonished as themselves.
“God bless me!” cried the Colonel, partly recovering himself and stepping within the room. “Can it be you, Mrs. Osborne, in this impossible place?—And you, too, doctor!”
“Why, father! How did you ever get here?” exclaimed Janet, springing up to give him a warm embrace and a kiss.
And then the Colonel remembered, and a frown came over his face, succeeded by a puzzled expression.
“Isn’t this the khan’s harem?” he asked.
“I believe so,” returned Janet, laughing. And then Mrs. Osborne, with old-fashioned courtesy, came forward and offered the Colonel her hand, smiling pleasantlyinto his staring eyes. The man, also, rose from his seat to shake hands with both the Colonel and the doctor, the latter gentleman seeming to be more amused than surprised at the encounter.
“You have taken us somewhat by surprise, but you are welcome,” said Merad, in his deep, dignified tones, but speaking perfectly the English language. “I can appreciate your amazement at finding us in this place, for while we knew of your presence in Mekran, you were doubtless unaware that Mrs. Osborne and I are guests at the khan’s palace.”
“I—I can’t understand it!” gasped the Colonel.
“Janet, my dear,” said Mrs. Osborne, “will you try to find chairs for our friends?”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the doctor, looking around him rather nervously, “we came here to rescue Janet from the toils of an Eastern harem, and this is the most civilized looking place I’ve found in all Baluchistan. What does it all mean?”
“Permit me,” said Janet, saucily, “to introduceyou to the mysterious veiled lady who was reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the world,” and she waved a hand toward Mrs. Osborne. “I will acknowledge that she is the most beautiful, but, daddy dear, I am myself the queen of the harem, and His Highness the Khan’s favorite wife—being at present the only one!”
The Colonel’s face expressed horror and grief.
“I—I don’t understand,” he muttered, vacantly.
“The explanation is very simple,” replied Dr. Osborne. “My son Howard, who was at one time your private secretary, is at present Khan of Mekran.”
A sudden stillness succeeded this announcement, and then a look of comprehension stole over the Colonel’s face. He rose from his chair and drew himself up with cold dignity.
“Then, sir, I demand to know what my daughter is doing in the house of the scoundrel who swindled me seven years ago? As for her statement that she is his wife, that is, of course, a lie!”
The Persian confronted him with folded arms, looking down upon the Colonel from his superior height with the same intent and compelling force in the dark eyes that had awed the native assemblage at the death-bed of Burah Khan.
“Howard Osborne is not a scoundrel,” he said.
“He is worse than that!” roared the choleric colonel, now beside himself with anger; “he is a thief, a forger and a coward. He signed my name for twenty thousand dollars, and ran away with the money. I have never seen his face from that day to this.”
“It is true that my son left New York with this stigma attached to his name,” said the other, calmly. “But he did it to save you, Piedmont Moore, from a still greater humiliation, although I vainly pleaded with him to consider his own family before yours.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the Colonel, plainly staggered at this statement.
Merad, hesitating for the first time,glanced at his wife, who shook her head pleadingly for him to hold his peace. But Janet sprang forward and stood erect beside him.
“Tell him!” she cried, defiantly. “The infamous secret has been kept too long.”
Then Merad spoke in a low, clear voice.
“Your own son was the forger,” he said.
“It’s a lie!” shouted the Colonel, shrinking back, nevertheless, from the Persian’s calm gaze.
“It is true. The money saved Allison from shame and exposure; so Howard dared not force him to return it. But the bank, being the direct victim of the forgery, placed the matter in the hands of the detective police. The toils were closing slowly but surely around your son when Howard, seeing no other way to save you, and tenderly loving the sister of the real criminal, whose heart he feared would be broken at the disclosure of her brother’s infamy, decided to save you all by acknowledging himself the forger. It was a rash idea, hastily conceived and executed in a panic of fear, for the detectives were closeupon the trail. He left me a note, telling me the whole truth and begging me not to betray Allison, for he had fled the country and would never return. Well knowing that he did not realize the consequences of his generous act, his mother and I set out to follow him, and for seven long years we have striven in vain to regain our lost son. I will not bore you, Colonel Moore, with a recital of our anxieties and sufferings—borne on your account; but I think it ill becomes you to revile the name of Howard Osborne. Rather should you fall at his feet in gratitude for one of the most noble and unselfish acts any man has ever performed.”
The impressive and convincing tones carried with them the warrant of truth. The Colonel fell back upon his chair, covering his face with his hands, and Janet knelt beside him, her arms around his neck and her cheek to his, striving silently to comfort him. And while they remained thus, with little David gaping in the frame of the panel and still holding the flickering candle above his head, the door of the apartmentsuddenly opened and Ahmed Khan strode in.
One look into the grave faces of the group before him warned the ruler of Mekran that a crisis had arisen. Janet arose and stole swiftly to his side, and he placed an arm around her with a reassuring smile. The Colonel looked up, and meeting the calm grey eyes of Howard Osborne he seemed shaken with a fury of doubt and rage.
“It is all false!” he cried, springing to his feet. “I am being tricked and deceived—even by my own daughter. This fellow is no Khan of Mekran, but a fugitive from American justice, masquerading as a native of Baluchistan. The forger of seven years ago is the impostor of today! Come to me, Janet. That man is not worthy to touch you.”
“Worthy or unworthy,” said the girl, clinging yet closer to the Khan, “my place is by his side. We were married seven years ago, before he left America. I am his wife, father!”
The silence that followed Janet’s declaration was broken by the tramp of feet along the connecting passage, followed by an abrupt knock upon the door.
The Persian opened it, glanced without, and then stood aside.
“Bring him in, Dirrag,” he said.
Slowly the little band of warriors entered, bearing between them a limp form which they laid gently upon a couch.
The Colonel’s face, as his staring eyes fell upon his son, was gray and haggard, but the old gentleman seemed to have exhausted his capacity for being surprised. Mrs. Osborne, with a shudder and a sympathetic moan, turned away weeping, but Janet crept close to the couch and gazed in mingled fright and horror upon her brother’s motionless form.
“Is he dead?” asked the Colonel, hoarsely.
“Not yet,” replied Dr. Warner, his hand on Allison’s heart; “but he is dying.”
“Where did you find him, Dirrag?” asked the Khan, in a quiet voice.
“In the vizier’s garden, your Highness. He was attacked by Agahr’s slaves, who likewise slew their master’s own daughter, Maie.”
The wounded man groaned, slightly moving his head.
“Stand back, all of you!” commanded the Colonel, with a sudden accession of his old brave spirit. And as they obeyed he himself approached the couch, a look of stern resolution upon his face. “Allison must speak, he must clear up this mystery before he dies.”
The Persian motioned all the warriors save Dirrag to leave the room. Then he drew from his robe a small phial and forced its contents between Allison’s set lips.
In a moment the young man groaned again, and then slowly opening his eyes,gazed vacantly upon the group around him.
“Allison,” said his father—firmly, but in a tone less harsh than before—“here is Howard Osborne, whom I always have accused of forging, seven years ago, my check for twenty thousand dollars. He claims that he is innocent.”
Allison moved restlessly, his eyes wandering from face to face as if in search of some one who was not present.
“I—I believe Howard is innocent,” he answered, with much difficulty.
“Who was the culprit, then?”
The wounded man stared back into his eyes, but made no reply.
“They say you are dying, my son,” continued the old man, gently, “and if you have done wrong—if you have ever deceived me—now is the time to confess all, and clear the name of an innocent man.”
Allison made a motion with his hand, wearily.
“Where is Maie?” he asked, “and why do you keep the place so cursed dark?”
The doctor placed an arm under his head, raising it slightly.
“Tell me, Allison,” pleaded the Colonel, “who forged that paper? Who was it, my son?”
“Why,—I did it, father.—It’s all over, now—only twenty thousand—not worth—fussing about. Maie! Are you there, my Maie?”
With the words he made an effort to rise, and a crimson stream gushed from his mouth and nostrils. The doctor laid him back upon the cushions, while the Persian sought to stay the hemorrhage with his handkerchief. But Allison was spent. His limbs twitched nervously once or twice, and after that he lay still.
The harem of the Khan had become a chamber of death.
The events of this fateful night, numerous though they had been, were not yet ended.
Leaving the women to care for the dead man the Khan had withdrawn to his state apartment, taking with him the Persian, Dr. Warner and Colonel Moore, as well as David the Jew.
“It is best that all mysteries and misunderstandings be cleared up at once,” said the young ruler, when his guests had been seated. “The hour is late, but I believe you will prefer not to rest until you have become acquainted with the facts that explain my presence here as the Khan of Mekran. But there are others in the palace who are entitled to hear the story, and with your permission I will ask them to join us.”
The Colonel nodded consent. He was yet too dazed by the appalling tragedy of the hour to command more than a listless interest in these consequent proceedings. Dr. Warner was grave and thoughtful, but seemed to realize intuitively that fate had been kind to his old friend in removing Allison from his life. After the first shock of grief had passed the Colonel himself would acknowledge this. The boy had been a thorn in his side for many years.
“Dirrag,” said the Khan, “tell Captain Beni-Bouraz to unbind his prisoners; and do you lead them here to me.”
They sat in silence until the command was obeyed, and Kasam and the aged vizier entered the room.
The Prince carried himself rather better in misfortune than when free to direct his own actions. He appeared composed and dignified, accepting his fate with a stout heart and seemingly without desire to bemoan the triumph of his enemy. Agahr’s face was sternly set. What his thoughts might be none could tell.
The Khan greeted his prisoners courteously,and waited until they had seated themselves before he began to speak.
“Gentlemen,” said he, addressing the entire group, “events have occurred this night which render it necessary that you be made acquainted with some portions of my life history that you are now ignorant of. A few minutes ago Colonel Moore accused me of being an impostor, because seven years ago he knew me in America as Howard Osborne.”
Kasam gave a start at these words.
“I have never believed you were a Baluch,” he said, scornfully. “You were foisted upon us by that false mufti of Mehmet, Salaman, to further some interest of his own.”
“It is true that I am not the son of Burah Khan,” responded the other, in even tones. “My father is Dr. Merad Osborne, known to the people of Mekran as a Persian physician, and now here to verify my statement.”
All eyes were turned upon the dark visage of the tall physician, seeking in vain a resemblance between the two men thatwould lend truth to the astonishing assertion.
Merad smiled.
“I will tell you my story,” he said, “and then you will understand us better.”
“I, for one, do not care to hear it,” exclaimed Kasam, with scarcely suppressed eagerness. “If this man is no son of Burah Khan, he stands before us a fraudulent usurper, and the throne of Mekran belongs to me!”
“Not so,” answered a clear voice, speaking in English, and the white-robed priest of Takkatu pressed through the group and stood before the Prince. “Ahmed Khan sits upon his throne by a better right than you can ever boast, Prince Kasam of Raab!”
Kasam was about to retort angrily, but he marked the jewelled star upon Salaman’s breast and controlled himself to bow low before the emblem. England had not wholly driven out of the young Baluch’s heart the faith of his fathers.
“Your words are strange, my father,” he murmured, still somewhat rebelliously.“Is not this man acknowledged to be the son of Merad?”
“And who is Merad?” asked the priest, gravely.
“I do not know, my father.”
“Tell him, Merad.”
“I am the son of Keedar Khan,” said the physician, proudly.
A cry of surprise burst from his hearers. Even the vizier, who knew no English, caught the name of Keedar Khan and looked upon the Persian with curious eyes.
“I believe,” said Kasam, brokenly, “it will be best to hear your story.”
The priest stepped back, giving place to the physician.
“Keedar Khan had two legitimate sons,” began Merad, “of whom I was the younger by several years. My brother Burah was fierce and warlike, and realizing that I might at some time stand in the way of his ambition and so meet destruction, I fled as a youth to Teheran, where I was educated as a physician by the aid of secret funds furnished by my father. When Keedar died and Burah ascended the throne I wanderedthrough many lands until I finally came to America, where I met and loved Howard’s mother, the daughter of a modest New York merchant named Osborne. In wedding her I took her name, my own being difficult for the English-speaking tongue to pronounce, and from that time I became known as Dr. Merad Osborne, a physician fairly skilled in the science of medicines.
“Our son grew to manhood and became the private secretary of Colonel Moore. In appearance he favored his mother, rather than me, having her eyes and hair as well as the sturdy physique of the Osbornes. Seven years ago, or a little more, the catastrophy that wrecked our happiness occurred. Howard disappeared, self-accused of forging his employer’s name for a large amount. He left behind, for the eyes of his mother and me alone, a confession of his innocence, together with the startling information that he had secretly married Colonel Moore’s daughter before the knowledge of Allison’s crime was known to him. His youth and inexperienceled him to believe that his sacrifice would shield his wife’s brother and father from public exposure and disgrace, failing to take into consideration the wrong done to his girl-wife and to his own parents.
“I at once suspected that my boy had fled to the Orient, for he had always maintained an eager interest in my tales of Persia and Baluchistan, and knew I was a native of this country, although he was ignorant of the fact that he was the grandson of the great Keedar Khan. So his mother and I left New York, searching throughout the East in a vain endeavor to trace our lost son. At last we were reluctantly compelled to abandon the quest, and I settled in Kelat, where my fame as a Persian physician soon became a matter of note.
“It was in this capacity that I was sent for to minister to my dying brother, Burah Khan, who knew not that I was his brother. But I strove faithfully to carry out his will, and to preserve his life until the arrival of his heir. Then came from the monastery of Takkatu, where he had secluded himself, my own son, appointed by the GrandMufti of the Sunnites to represent the successor of Burah Khan upon the throne of Mekran. To the great priest of our Faith,” bowing low to Salaman, “no knowledge is barred, and from Howard’s story of his father’s life the Mufti knew the truth, and that he had a greater right, according to the laws of the tribes, to rule this country than the son of Burah Khan, who, also an inmate of the monastery, pleaded to be left to pursue his sacred studies at Takkatu.
“Of the strange coming of the Americans, through whom my son had been exiled from the land of his birth, I need not speak. The ways of Allah are indeed inscrutable, and Ahmed Khan has acted, during these past days of trial, by the advice of the great Salaman himself.”
A silence followed this terse relation, which had sufficed to explain many things both to Kasam and to the Americans. David, also, shrinking back into his corner, listened eagerly, wondering if there was any part of the strange story that he could at some future time sell to his advantage.
“There is little that I can add,” said the Khan, musingly, “to my good father’s words. That he has always remained a faithful Moslem you can easily guess, and it was but natural I should embrace the creed of my forefathers. I found much comfort in the religious seclusion of the monastery, but it is nevertheless a great relief to me to be freed at last from the taint of guilt that has clung to my name. The only wrong I did in America was to secretly marry the girl I loved and then leave her to mourn a lover whom she might well consider faithless and unworthy. My only excuse is that I was young and impulsive, and my dear wife, who had never ceased to have faith in my honor, has generously forgiven me the fault.”
As the Khan paused, Kasam the prince strode forward and held out his hand.
“Forgive me, my cousin,” he said, bravely, “that I have been led to misjudge and oppose you. From this time forth Ahmed Khan shall boast no more faithful follower than Kasam of Raab.”
Howard pressed the proffered handgratefully. Then he walked over to the aged vizier, who had been a silent and puzzled witness of the scene, and touched him gently upon his shoulder.
“You are forgiven, and you are free, Agahr,” he said in Baluch. “Go to your home, and may the Prophet shield your heart from the bitterness of the blow that there awaits you.”
Agahr looked into his eyes.
“Is it Maie?” he whispered.
The Khan nodded.
“The hand of Allah,” said he in kindly tones, “spares neither the high nor the lowly.”
Agahr threw up his arms with a wild scream.
“The hand of Allah!” he cried; “no, no! not that! It was the hand of him that loved her best—the hand of her father!”
And muffling his head in his cloak he tottered slowly from the room.
To those who looked after Agahr with pitying eyes a slave entered, announcing a messenger for David the Jew.
The little man hurried away to the next chamber, where, dimly lighted by a swinging lantern, stood the form of a girl whose face was concealed to the eyes by the folds of a dark mantle. But the eyes were enough for David. He knew her at once.
“Halima!” he exclaimed. “Vy do you seek Davit?”
The girl drew a small box from her cloak.
“The gift of Maie,” she said.
“Maie! Bud, dey tell me Maie iss dead.”
“Of that I know nothing,” answered the slave girl, all unmoved. “It is nevertheless her gift. I have been seeking yousince before midnight, and but now discovered you were at the palace. Take the casket; and, mark me: here is the spring that opens it.”
She drew the cloak around her again and with quiet, cat-like steps left the room.
David gazed after her with joy sparkling in his eyes.
“Id iss my luck!” he muttered, hugging the casket in an ecstasy of delight. “Id iss de luck of cleffer Davit! Efen de dead adds to my riches. Led me see—led me see if Maie iss generous.”
With trembling fingers he touched the spring, and as the lid flew back he leaned over and feasted his eyes upon the gems and gold that sparkled so beautifully in the dim light.
Then the silken purse attracted his attention. He drew it out, loosened the string, and thrust in his thumb and finger.
Next moment an agonized yell rang through the palace. With a jerk that sent the gold and jewels flying in every direction the Jew withdrew his finger, glaring wildly at an object that curled about it andclung fast. Then he dashed the thing to the floor, set his heel upon it and screamed again and again in mad terror.
The cries aroused those in the next room; the draperies were torn aside and the Khan entered, followed by Merad, Kasam and the Americans.
David lay writhing upon the floor, and even as they gazed upon him his screams died away and his fat body rolled over with a last convulsive shudder.
“What has happened?” asked Kasam, bewildered—as, indeed, they all were.
The physician bent over and cautiously examined the crushed thing that had proved to be David’s bane.
“It is a mountain scorpion,” he said, “the most venomous creature in existence.”
Maie’s vengeance had survived her; but perhaps it mattered little to the dead girl that David’s punishment had been swift and sure.
Two weeks had passed since the events just narrated, and peace seemed to have again settled over the isolated town of Mekran. Kasam remained at the palace, declaring himself a faithful adherent of Ahmed Khan, but although he had sent word to Zarig, the sirdar of Raab, who yet remained encamped with his warriors in the west valley, that peace was declared, the rebellious sirdar had refused to come into the city and make obeisance to Ahmed of Ugg.
All the Americans were now housed within the palace, and Aunt Lucy had come to revise and reconstruct her opinion of that whilom den of iniquity, the harem. But Allison’s tragic death had sobered the good lady, as it had all of their little band, and checked for a time at least her garrulityand desire to criticise. There was no doubt of Aunt Lucy’s democracy, yet it was amusing to note her pride in the fact that Janet was the wife of an Eastern potentate of the importance of Ahmed Khan. It would be a splendid tale to carry back to New York, and she had already decided to leave an envelope always carelessly lying upon her table addressed to “Her Imperial Majesty the Khanum of Mekran and Empress of Baluchistan.” It would serve to amuse visitors while she arranged her hair at the mirror before coming down.
Kasam’s wild passion for Janet had quickly evaporated with the news that she was wedded to Ahmed. The young prince was greatly subdued in spirit, and made no objections to Bessie’s kindly efforts to console him. His position in the palace was necessarily an uncomfortable one, for he held no clearly defined rank in the household and there was no gift within the power of the Khan that it would be dignified in him to accept. Reared from childhood with the ambition of sometime becoming the ruler of Mekran by virtue ofhis royal blood, it was naturally difficult for Kasam to realize that this brilliant dream was past and he must be content to abandon it forever.
So he wandered restlessly in the gardens, with Bessie by his side, and accompanied the girl on long rides through the pleasant valleys, and might have been as happy as in the old days had he allowed himself to forget his disappointment.
Meantime Salaman, the Grand Mufti of the realm, remained the chosen companion of the Khan, who, notwithstanding the deference he paid to his illustrious father, leaned more upon the aged priest than any other of his friends. And thus it was that one bright morning they walked together upon a high roof of the palace, where none might interrupt their earnest communion.
“I have thought well upon your words, my son,” said Salaman, “and examined critically your desires, striving honestly to quell my own inclination to oppose you. But I fear I cannot understand you wholly. What is there in this favored country—the land of your famous forefathers—thatrepels you, and inclines you to leave it?”
Ahmed paced up and down, thoughtfully weighing his words e’er he replied.
“It is, as you well say, my father, a land favored of Allah; yet the life here is the life of the lotus-eaters; or one of holy concentration; or even of idle dreams. Time has no wings in Baluchistan. We live, and lo, we die, while the sun shines fair as ever, the breezes rustle through the palms, the fountains still splash in their marble basins, and the endless chain of humanity creeps on from the cradle to the grave with uneventful languor. As it was a hundred years ago, so it is today; as it is now it will be found in future ages—merely Baluchistan, the home of a million contented souls, all faithful to Allah, all indifferent to earthly conditions outside their narrow limits.”
“Truly, a paradise on earth!” said Salaman, nodding approval.
“In the West,” said the Khan, a stronger note creeping into his voice, “a spirit of unrest is ever abroad. It impels men to do and to dare, feeding upon their brainand brawn rather than upbuilding them. They strive—strive ever, though erring or misdirected—putting their shoulders all together to the wheel of the juggernaut chariot of Progress and sweating mightily that some thing may be accomplished that was never known before. And in this they find content.”
“Poor souls!” murmured the priest.
“Father, I am of these—my mother’s people—rather than of those who rest satisfied with Allah’s gifts. Here I may never be at peace. As Khan of Mekran I would overturn all existing conditions. I would plunge my people into reckless wars of conquest, build rails for iron chariots to speed upon—shrieking the cry of Progress throughout the land. Merchants from all nations would gather here to rouse the tribesmen to barter and sale, teaching them lies and deceptions now all unknown to their simple hearts. My father, I would be as dangerous to your people as a firebrand in a thatch. Let me go. Send me back to that country whence I came: the country that taught me unrest; the countrywhere alone I shall find employment for an earnest heart and a strong right arm! Put Kasam in my place.”
“It may be that you are right; that you know what is best for us all,” replied the priest, sadly. “But you demand that I perform a difficult task. You are Khan of Mekran, acknowledged legally by the sirdars and—”
“Not by Burah Khan,” interrupted the other, with a smile. “It was my faithful Dirrag who, dressed in the dead Burah’s robes, enacted the Khan’s part and acknowledged me before the sirdars.”
Salaman gave a sigh of regret.
“True, dear Hafiz,” he said, unconsciously adopting the old affectionate appellation. “But you are grandson of the great Keedar. You rule justly and by right of inheritance. And in the beginning you accepted the throne readily enough. What has caused your inclinations to so change?”
“I have found a wife,” said the young man, proudly; “and she is an American. Without her I was content to merely exist.With her by my side I am roused to action. Hear me, father. Kasam will rule you better than ever I could do. His heart is here—where he was born. He will forget, as I never could do, the urgent prompting of that western civilization we have both known. Let Kasam be khan!”
Salaman came close to Ahmed, placed both hands upon his shoulders, and laid his aged head against the strong young breast.
“We have been friends, my Hafiz, and I have loved you. It grieves my very heart to let you go. But if I can compass the thing and bring the people to consent, it shall be according to your will. For life is brief, as you say, and Allah waits above for us both. And wherein would the charm of friendship lie if the selfishness of one should steal the other’s heart’s desire?”
For reply Ahmed gathered the speaker into his steadfast embrace; and so they stood silent and alone upon the housetop, with Allah’s sun lovingly caressing the brown locks of the Khan and the silvery beard of the high priest.
In the great throne room of the palace at Mekran were assembled all the dignitaries of the nation—sirdars, captains, kaids; muftis and mueddens from the mosques; civil officers and judges from the towns; high and lowly officials of the royal household. Even the obstinate and unbridled Zirag had yielded to Kasam’s demand and, doubtless more through curiosity than obedience, had left his camp to enter the city and witness the day’s event.
Of the nature or character of this event all were alike ignorant. They merely knew they were commanded to assemble, and the authority of the khan, backed by that of the Grand Mufti Salaman, ranking next to him, was sufficient to bring them to a man at the appointed hour.
The press was truly great, even in thisspacious hall of audience. Upon a raised dais sat Ahmed Khan, arrayed in his most magnificent robe of state. At one side, but upon a lower platform, sat Prince Kasam, and at the Khan’s right hand stood the Grand Mufti, wearing his decoration of the jewelled star.
A silence bred of intense curiosity pervaded the assemblage. Even Zarig, who, clad in his well-worn riding dress, had pressed close to the platform, was awed by the dignity of the proceedings and glanced nervously from Kasam to Ahmed and then upon the stately form of the priest.
Presently the great Salaman stepped forward, offering a brief prayer imploring the guidance of Moses, of Jesus, of Mahomet and of Allah the All-Wise upon their deliberations. Then, drawing himself erect, he addressed the people in these words:
“My friends and brothers, it is my duty to declare to you, as representatives of all the people, that a great wrong has been done you. It was not an intentional wrong, nor one which, having been discovered, may not be fully redressed; nevertheless,you must hear the truth and act upon it as you deem just and right.”
He paused, and a thrill of excitement swept over the throng. In all their history no such thing as this had been known before.
“The man who sits before you as Ahmed Khan,” resumed the priest, in a cold voice, “came to you purporting to be the grandson of Keedar Khan and the son of Burah Khan, and thus entitled to rule over you. He is, indeed, the legitimate grandson of the great Keedar; but he is no son of Burah, being the offspring of Keedar’s younger brother Merad, who fled to Persia an exile in his youth.”
Notwithstanding the astonishing nature of this intelligence the assemblage maintained its silent, curious attitude. Many eyes were turned upon the calm and dignified countenance of Ahmed Khan, but no mark or token of unfriendliness was manifested in these glances.
The priest continued:
“Those among you who heard the dying Burah acknowledge this man to be his son,before all the sirdars, will marvel that my statement can be true. You must now know that at that time Burah had really been dead for two days, and that another falsely took his place. It was this lawless one who, masquerading as the khan, made the formal acknowledgment. For this reason Ahmed has never legally been your khan. He is not your khan now.”
At last a murmur burst from the throng; but to the listening ears of the priest it seemed more a sound of amazement than of protest or indignation. Ahmed arose from the throne, drew off his splendid robe of office and laid it over the arm of the chair, disclosing to all eyes the simple inner garb of a tribesman of Ugg. With dignified mien he stepped from the dais to the lower platform and held up a hand to command silence. Instantly every voice was hushed as if by magic.
“Brothers,” said he, “if I have wronged you I beg your forgiveness. Most willingly I now resign the throne to which I am not entitled, and ask you to choose for yourselvesone more worthy than I to rule over you.”
As he paused a cry arose that quickly swelled to a clamorous shout:
“Ahmed! Give us Ahmed for our Khan! None shall rule us but Ahmed, the grandson of Keedar Khan!”
Salaman turned pale at this unexpected denouement, which threatened to wreck all his plans. He strode forward and seized Ahmed’s arm, dragging him into the background and then returning himself to confront the multitude.
Higher and higher the shouts arose, while the priest waved his hands to subdue the excitement that he might again be heard.
Zarig, scowling fiercely as the crowd pressed him against the edge of the platform, fingered his dagger as if longing to still this unwelcome homage to one of the hated tribe of Ugg; but so far as Salaman could determine there were few others who did not join the enthusiastic tribute to Ahmed.
But gradually the dignitaries tired of their unusual demonstration, and rememberingtheir official characters subsided to their accustomed calm. The priest took advantage of the first moment that he could be plainly heard.
“Listen well, chieftains and friends!” he cried. “It is clear to me that your loyalty and admiration for Keedar’s grandson have clouded your clearer judgment. Not that I denounce Ahmed as unworthy to rule, but that before your eyes sits one entitled above all others to occupy the throne of his forefathers—the descendant of seven generations of just and worthy rulers of this land. Brothers, I present to you one who is a native-born Baluch—the noblest of you all—Prince Kasam of Raab!”
Kasam, who until now had been ignorant of the purposes of Salaman, and was therefore as greatly astonished as any man present, obeyed the beckoning finger of the priest and arose to face his people with that air of proud dignity he knew so well how to assume.
Zarig shouted his name wildly: “Kasam! Kasam Khan!” and a few others, carried away by the priest’s words, followedthe sirdar’s lead. But the shouts for Kasam were soon drowned by more lusty acclaims for Ahmed, and Salaman hesitated, at a loss how to act, while Kasam shrank back as if he keenly felt the humiliation of his rejection.
Driven to frenzy by the wild scene about him, Zarig sprang with one bound to the platform.
“No Ahmed Khan for me!” he shouted, and drawing a slender dagger from his belt he threw himself upon the American with the ferocity of a tiger.
But Kasam was even quicker. Before the multitude realized the tragic nature of the scene being enacted, the Prince had fallen upon his sirdar and plunged his knife twice into Zarig’s breast. The man fell to the floor in a death agony, dragging Ahmed with him, while above them Kasam stood grasping the weapon that had so promptly saved the life of the man whom his people had preferred before him.
Then, indeed, a shout of admiration burst from the Baluchi, their impulsive natures quick to respond to the generosity of suchan act. Ahmed, freeing himself from the dead sirdar, rose up and seizing the royal robe he had discarded flung its brilliant folds over Kasam’s shoulders. Then he knelt before his preserver, and Salaman, prompt to take advantage of the diversion which was likely to turn the tide of popular enthusiasm his way, knelt also at Kasam’s feet as if saluting him as kahn.
Zarig had accomplished by his mad act all that he had once longed for in life. The cries for Kasam grew stronger and more spontaneous, and Ahmed was able to quietly withdraw from the platform without his absence being observed.
Soon the people were as eager in shouting for Kasam as they had been for Ahmed, and Salaman lost no time in completing the ceremony that established the heir of seven generations of rulers firmly upon the throne.
Janet met her husband at the entrance to the harem, where he had hurried as soon as he could escape from the hall.
“Well, how did it end?” she asked. “They terrified me, at first, with their cries for Ahmed Khan.”
“They terrified me, too, sweetheart,” he answered lightly. “But my cousin Kasam is truly made of the right stuff, and turned the tide in the nick of time. Now then, join me—all together, dear one!—hurrah for Kasam Khan!”
And as their voices died away an answering shout, grave and stern, came like an echo from the great audience chamber:
“Kasam Khan!”
Never had a better equipped caravan left the gates of Mekran to cross the Gedrusian Desert in the direction of Kelat and civilization. The palanquins of the dromedaries were so comfortable that Aunt Lucy declared she felt as if on shipboard. The horses were the finest the famous monastery of Mehmet had ever bred; the pack animals bore tents and material for the nightly camp that would have been worthy the great Alexander himself, and everything that might contribute to the comfort and even luxury of the travellers had been provided with a liberal hand. Here were the twenty Afghans, too, glad of the chance to return to their own country again; but of the former party some were missing and some had been added.
Dirrag was the guide, this time, and the faithful fellow lost no opportunity to implore Howard Osborne to take him along to America. “Your Highness will need a bodyguard,” he argued, “so why not take me, whom you may trust?”
“We don’t use body guards in America, Dirrag,” was the laughing answer.
“But we have such things as true friends—when we can get them,” said Janet, brightly; “so I shall insist upon having my old warrior by my side, wherever we may go.”
“That settles it, Dirrag,” announced the doctor; “you’re half an American already. Heigh-ho! I wish I could go with you. But Bessie says I must return to her just as soon as I’ve bought the new furnishings for the palace and seen Lucy well on her way home. You may expect me to end my days in this jumping-off place, my dear Colonel.”
“It’s really a very fine country,” declared Aunt Lucy, with an air of proud proprietorship; “and it’s only natural, Luther, you should wish to live with Her Serene Highnessthe Khanum of Mekran and Empress of Baluchistan, who is your only daughter and my niece.”
“Fiddlesticks!” said the doctor, laughing. “I really believe the only reason Lucy is anxious to get back to New York,” he remarked to Dr. and Mrs. Osborne in a loud aside, “is to air her relationship with the Khanum. Oh, by the way, Colonel,” turning to his old friend, “how about that railroad?”
“Bother the railroad!” growled the Colonel. “I’d forgotten all about it.”