Donovan Pasha, and Some People of Egypt Part 25

She was dumfounded. "I don't understand," she said helplessly.

"Well, the Khedive put your six and fourteen others in prison for treason or something--it doesn't matter much here what it is. His game is to squeeze Kingsley's gold orange dry, if he can."

A light broke over her face. "Ah, now I see," she said, and her face flushed deeply with anger and indignation. "And you--Donovan Pasha, you who are supposed to have influence with the Khedive, who are supposed to be an English influence over him, you can speak of this quietly, patiently, as a matter possible to your understanding. This barbarous, hideous black mail! This cruel, dreadful tyranny! You, an Englishman, remain in the service of the man who is guilty of such a crime!" Her breath came hard.

"Well, it seems the wisest thing to do as yet. You have lived a long time in Egypt, you should know what Oriental rule is. Question: Is one bite of a cherry better than no bite of a cherry? Egypt is like a circus, but there are wild horses in the ring, and you can't ride them just as you like. If you keep them inside the barriers, that's something. Of course, Kingsley made a mistake in a way. He didn't start his desert-city and his slavery without the consent of the Khedive; he shouldn't have stopped it and gone out of business without the same consent. It cut down the Effendina's tribute."

He spoke slowly, counting every word, watching the effect upon her. He had much to watch, and he would have seen more if he had known women better.

"He has abandoned the mines--his city--and slavery?" she asked chokingly, confusedly. It seemed hard for her to speak.

"Yes, yes, didn't you know? Didn't he tell you?" She shook her head. She was thinking back-remembering their last conversation, remembering how sharp and unfriendly she had been with him. He had even then freed his slaves, had given her slaves to free.

"I wonder what made him do it?" added d.i.c.ky. "He had made a great fortune--poor devil, he needed it, for the estates were sweating under the load. I wonder what made him do it?"

She looked at him bewilderedly for a moment, then, suddenly, some faint suspicion struck her.

"You should know. You joined with him in deceiving me at a.s.siout."

"But, no," he responded quickly, and with rare innocence, "the situation was difficult. You already knew him very well, and it was the force of circ.u.mstances--simply the force of circ.u.mstances. Bad luck--no more. He was innocent, mine was the guilt. I confess I was enjoying the thing, because--because, you see he had deceived me, actually deceived me, his best friend. I didn't know he knew you personally, till you two met on that veranda at a.s.siout, and--"

"And you made it difficult for him to explain at once--I remember."

"I'm afraid I did. I've got a nasty little temper at times, and I had a chance to get even. Then things got mixed, and Foulik Pasha upset the whole basket of plums. Besides, you see, I'm a jealous man, an envious man, and you never looked so well as you did that day, unless it's to-day."

She was about to interrupt him, but he went on.

"I had begun to feel that we might have been better friends, you and I; that--that I might have helped you more; that you had not had the sympathy you deserved; that civilisation was your debtor, and that--"

"No, no, no, you must not speak that way to me," she interposed with agitation. "It--it is not necessary. It doesn't bear on the matter. And you've always been a good friend--always a good friend," she added with a little friendly quiver in her voice, for she was not quite sure of herself.

d.i.c.ky had come out in a new role, one wherein he would not have been recognised. It was probably the first time he had ever tried the delicate social art of playing with fire of this sort. It was all true in a way, but only in a way. The truest thing about it was that it was genuine comedy, in which there were two villains, and no hero, and one heroine.

"But there it is," he repeated, having gone as far as his cue warranted.

"I didn't know he had given up his desert-city till two days before you did, and I didn't know he knew you, and I don't know why he gave up his desert-city--do you?"

There was a new light in her eyes, a new look in her face. She was not sure but that she had a glimmering of the reason. It was a woman's reason, and it was not without a certain exquisite egotism and vanity, for she remembered so well the letter she had written him--every word was etched into her mind; and she knew by heart every word of his reply.

Then there were the six slaves he sent to her-and his coming immediately afterwards.... For a moment she seemed to glow, and then the colour slowly faded and left her face rather grey and very quiet.

He might not be a slave-driver now, but he had been one--and the world of difference it made to her! He had made his great fortune out of the work of the men employed as slaves, and--she turned away to the window with a dejected air. For the first time the real weight of the problem pressed upon her heavily.

"Perhaps you would like to see him," said d.i.c.ky. "It might show that you were magnanimous."

"Magnanimous! It will look like that--in a mud-cell, with mud floor, and a piece of matting."

"And a bala.s.s of water and dourha-cakes," said d.i.c.ky in a childlike way, and not daring to meet her eyes.

He stroked his moustache with his thumb-nail in a way he had when perplexed. Kingsley Bey was not in a mud-cell, with a mat and a bala.s.s of water, but in a very decent apartment indeed, and d.i.c.ky was trying to work the new situation out in his mind. The only thing to do was to have Kingsley removed to a mud-cell, and not let him know the author of his temporary misfortune and this new indignity. She was ready to visit him now--he could see that. He made difficulties, however, which would prevent their going at once, and he arranged with her to go to Kingsley in the late afternoon.

Her mind was in confusion, but one thing shone clear through the confusion, and it was the iniquity of the Khedive. It gave her a foothold. She was deeply grateful for it. She could not have moved without it. So shameful was the Khedive in her eyes that the prisoner seemed Criminal made Martyr.

She went back to her hotel flaming with indignation against Ismail. It was very comforting to her to have this resource. The six slaves whom she had freed--the first-fruits of her labours: that they should be murdered! The others who had done no harm, who had been slaves by Ismail's consent, that they should be now in danger of their lives through the same tyrant! That Kingsley Bey, who had been a slave-master with Ismail's own approval and to his advantage, should now--she glowed with pained anger.... She would not wait till she had seen Kingsley Bey, or Donovan Pasha again; she herself would go to Ismail at once.

So, she went to Ismail, and she was admitted, after long waiting in an anteroom. She would not have been admitted at all, if it had not been for d.i.c.ky, who, arriving just before her on the same mission, had seen her coming, and guessed her intention. He had then gone in to the Khedive with a new turn to his purposes, a new argument and a new suggestion, which widened the scope of the comedy now being played. He had had a struggle with Ismail, and his own place and influence had been in something like real danger, but he had not minded that. He had suggested that he might be of service to Egypt in London and Paris. That was very like a threat, but it was veiled by a look of genial innocence which Ismail admired greatly. He knew that Donovan Pasha could hasten the crisis coming on him. He did not believe that Donovan Pasha would, but that did not alter the astuteness and value of the move; and, besides, it was well to run no foolish risks and take no chances. Also, he believed in Donovan Pasha's honesty. He despised him in a worldly kind of way, because he might have been rich and splendid, and he was poor and una.s.suming. He wanted Kingsley Bey's fortune, or a great slice of it, but he wanted it without a struggle with d.i.c.ky Donovan, and with the British Consulate--for that would come, too, directly. It gave him no security to know that the French would be with him--he knew which country would win in the end. He was preying on Kingsley Bey's humanity, and he hoped to make it well worth while. And all he thought and planned was well understood by d.i.c.ky.

Over their coffee they both talked from long distances towards the point of attack and struggle, Ismail carelessly throwing in glowing descriptions of the palaces he was building. d.i.c.ky never failed to show illusive interest, and both knew that they were not deceiving the other, and both came nearer to the issue by devious processes, as though these processes were inevitable. At last d.i.c.ky suddenly changed his manner and came straight to the naked crisis.

"Highness, I have an invitation for Kingsley Bey to dine at the British Consulate to-night. You can spare his presence?"

"My table is not despicable. Is he not comfortable here?"

"Is a mud floor, with bread and water and a sleeping-mat, comfortable?"

"He is lodged like a friend."

"He is lodged like a slave--in a cell."

"They were not my orders."

"Effendina, the orders were mine."

"Excellency!"

"Because there were no orders and Foulik Pasha was sleepless with anxiety lest the prisoner should escape, fearing your Highness's anger, I gave orders and trusted your Highness to approve."

Ismail saw a mystery in the words, and knew that it was all to be part of d.i.c.ky's argument in the end. "So be it, Excellency," he said, "thou hast breathed the air of knowledge, thine actions s.h.i.+ne. In what quarter of the palace rests he? And Foulik Pasha?"

"Foulik Pasha sits by his door, and the room is by the doorway where the sarrafs keep the accounts for the palaces your Highness builds. Also, abides near, the Greek, who toils upon the usury paid by your Highness to Europe."

Ismail smiled. The allusions were subtle and piercing. There was a short pause. Each was waiting. d.i.c.ky changed the attack. "It is a pity we should be in danger of riot at this moment, Highness."

"If riots come, they come. It is the will of G.o.d, Excellency. But in our hand lies order. We will quiet the storm, if a storm fall."

"There will be wreck somewhere."

"So be it. There will be salvage."

"Nothing worth a riot, Highness."

The Khedive eyed d.i.c.ky with a sudden malice and a desire to slay--to slay even Donovan Pasha. He did not speak, and d.i.c.ky continued negligently: "Prevention is better than cure."

The Khedive understood perfectly. He knew that d.i.c.ky had circ.u.mvented him, and had warned the Bank.

Still the Khedive did not speak. d.i.c.ky went on. "Kingsley Bey deposited ten thousand pounds--no more. But the gold is not there; only Kingsley Bey's credit."

"His slaves shall die to-morrow morning."

"Not so, Highness."