"
David nodded, and his face clouded. "We should have had word also," he
said sharply.
There was a knock at the door, and Mahommed Hassan entered, supporting an
Arab, down whose haggard face blood trickled from a wound in the head,
while an arm hung limp at his side.
"Behold, Saadat--from Ebn Ezra Bey," Mahommed said. The man drooped
beside him.
David caught a tin cup from a shelf, poured some liquor into it, and held
it to the lips of the fainting man. "Drink," he said. The Arab drank
greedily, and, when he had finished, gave a long sigh of satisfaction.
"Let him sit," David added.
When the man was seated on a sheepskin, the huge Mahommed squatting
behind like a sentinel, David questioned him. "What is thy name--thy
news?" he asked in Arabic.
"I am called Feroog. I come from Ebn Ezra Bey, to whom be peace!" he
answered. "Thy messenger, Saadat, behold he died of hunger and thirst,
and his work became mine. Ebn Ezra Bey came by the river. . . ."
"He is near?" asked David impatiently.
"He is twenty miles away.
Pages:
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735