"Thee is a good man," he said, and through the
sadness of his eyes there stole a smile. "Let us go," he said. Then he
added in a businesslike way: "To-morrow at seven, Nahoum. There is much
to do."
He turned towards the gate with Lacey, where the horses waited. Mahommed
Hassan met them as they prepared to mount. He handed David a letter. It
was from Faith, and contained the news of Luke Claridge's death.
Everything had come at once. He stumbled into the saddle with a moan.
"At last I have drawn blood," said Nahoum to himself with grim
satisfaction, as they disappeared. "It is the beginning of the end. It
will crush him-I saw it in his eyes. God of Israel, I shall rule again in
Egypt!"
CHAPTER XXIX
THE RECOIL
It was a great day in the Muslim year. The Mahmal, or Sacred Carpet, was
leaving Cairo on its long pilgrimage of thirty-seven days to Mecca and
Mahomet's tomb. Great guns boomed from the Citadel, as the gorgeous
procession, forming itself beneath the Mokattam Hills, began its slow
march to where, seated in the shade of an ornate pavilion, Prince Kaid
awaited its approach to pay devout homage.
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