This eBook was produced by David Widger
THE WEAVERS
By Gilbert Parker
BOOK IV.
XXVIII. NAHOUM TURNS THE SCREWXXIX. THE RECOILXXX. LACEY MOVESXXXI. THE STRUGGLE IN THE DESERTXXXII. FORTY STRIPES SAVE ONEXXXIII. THE DARK INDENTUREXXXIV. NAHOUM DROPS THE MASK
CHAPTER XXVIII
NAHOUM TURNS THE SCREW
Laughing to himself, Higli Pasha sat with the stem of a narghileh in hismouth. His big shoulders kept time to the quivering of his fat stomach.He was sitting in a small court-yard of Nahoum Pasha's palace, waitingfor its owner to appear. Meanwhile he exercised a hilarious patience.The years had changed him little since he had been sent on thatexpedition against the southern tribes which followed hard on David'sappointment to office. As David had expected, few of the traitorousofficers returned. Diaz had ignominiously died of the bite of atarantula before a blow had been struck, but Higli had gratefullyreceived a slight wound in the first encounter, which enabled him to beata safe retreat to Cairo. He alone of the chief of the old conspiratorswas left. Achmet was still at the Place of Lepers, and the old nest oftraitors was scattered for ever.
Only Nahoum and Higli were left, and between these two there had neverbeen partnership or understanding. Nahoum was not the man to trust toconfederates, and Higli Pasha was too contemptible a coadjutor. Nahoumhad faith in no one save Mizraim the Chief Eunuch, but Mizraim alone wasbetter than a thousand; and he was secret—and terrible. Yet Higli had aconviction that Nahoum's alliance with David was a sham, and that Davidwould pay the price of misplaced confidence one day. More than once whenDavid's plans had had a set-back, Higli had contrived a meeting withNahoum, to judge for himself the true position.
For his visit to-day he had invented a reason—a matter of finance; buthis real reason was concealed behind the malevolent merriment by which hewas now seized. So absorbed was he that he did not heed the approach ofanother visitor down an angle of the court-yard. He was roused by avoice.
"Well, what's tickling you so, pasha?"
The voice was drawling, and quite gentle; but at the sound of it, Higli'slaugh stopped short, and the muscles of his face contracted. If therewas one man of whom he had a wholesome fear—why, he could not tell—itwas this round-faced, abrupt, imperturbable American, Claridge Pasha'sright-hand man. Legends of resourcefulness and bravery had gatheredround his name. "Who's been stroking your chin with a feather, pasha?"he continued, his eye piercing the other like a gimlet.
"It was an amusing tale I heard at Assiout, effendi," was Higli's abashedand surly reply.
"Oh, at Assiout!" rejoined Lacey. "Yes, they tell funny stories at
Assiout. And when were you at Assiout, pasha?"
"Two days ago, effendi."
"And so you thought you'd tell the funny little story to Nahoum as quickas could be, eh? He likes funny stories, same as you—damn, nice, funnylittle stories, eh?"
There was something chilly in Lacey's voice now, which Higli did notlike; something much too menacing and contemptuous for a mere man-of-all-work to the Inglesi. Higli bridled up, his eyes glared sulkily.
"It is but my own business if I laugh or if I curse, effendi," hereplied, his hand shaking a little on the stem of the narghileh.
"Precisely, my diaphanous polyandris