"I have held my peace for my own reasons, effendi. Wilt thou then force
me to speak? If thou dost still cherish Claridge Pasha, wilt thou see him
ruined? Naught but ruin could follow the telling of the tale at this
moment--his work, his life, all done. The scandal, the law, vengeance!
But as it is now, Kaid may turn to him again; his work may yet go on--he
has had the luck of angels, and Kaid is fickle. Who can tell?"
Abashed and overwhelmed, Ebn Ezra Bey looked at him keenly. "To tell of
Foorgat Bey would ruin thee also," he said. "That thou knowest. The
trick--would Kaid forgive it? Claridge Pasha would not be ruined alone."
"Be it so. If thou goest to Kaid with thy story, I go to Egypt with mine.
Choose."
Ebn Ezra turned to go. "The high God judge between him and thee," he
said, and, with bowed head, left the Palace.
CHAPTER XXXIV
NAHOUM DROPS THE MASK
"CLARIDGE PASHA!"
At the sound of the words, announced in a loud voice, hundreds of heads
were turned towards the entrance of the vast salon, resplendent with
gilded mirrors, great candelabra and chandeliers, golden hangings, and
divans glowing with robes of yellow silk.
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