The carpets still soften the
fall of my feet in my father's palace, as they did soften the fall of my
brother's feet, the feet of Foorgat Bey."
He paused, looking at Ebn Ezra with quiet triumph, though his eyes had
ever that smiling innocence which had won David in days gone by. He was
turning his words over on the tongue with a relish born of long waiting.
"Come," he said presently--"come, and I will give thee reason why thou
wilt not speak with Kaid to-day. This way, effendi."
He led the other into a little room hung about with rugs and tapestry,
and, going to the wall, he touched a spring. "One moment here, effendi,"
he added quietly. The room was as it had been since David last stood
within it.
"In this room, effendi," Nahoum said with cold deliberation, "Claridge
Pasha killed my brother, Foorgat Bey."
Ebn Ezra fell back as though he had been struck. Swiftly Nahoum told him
the whole truth--even to the picture of the brougham, and the rigid,
upright figure passing through the night to Foorgat's palace, the gaunt
Mizraim piloting the equipage of death.
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