The rendezvous was at his father’s house, where, in the great reception-room, he found a score of men assembled. All had the faces of conspirators except his father, a very old man now, who bade them welcome as to some court function.
“Where is my son Hamdi?” asked the patriarch upon the dais, peering round upon the red-capped and black-coated throng.
“He is not with us. He has joined the fellahin. He dared not tell thee,” answered Yûsuf sadly.
“Well, well,” remarked Muhammad Pasha, with benignity. “Boys will be foolish! In Allah’s name I bid you welcome, O my friends. It is well known that I myself despise these upstarts and have told their leader my opinion to his face. Less old, I should have spent my life and fortune for the young Khedive, whose ancestor, the great Muhammad Ali, raised my house to honour; as it is, I pray to God to grant him victory. But his dependence on the English likes me not; and God forbid that I should influence your counsels. You have, each one, his life and fortune to protect, his duty to decide towards El Islam.”
He stopped, and an uneasy silence reigned for quite a minute. It was broken by a man exclaiming, “They have set up a tribunal in each town with power to ruin or to kill a man on mere suspicion. Hear the wording of a document which I received this day.”
With that, he took a paper from his breast and read aloud its contents—a call in truculent, inflated language upon the patriot Mahmûd the son of Hâfiz to show his fervour by a contribution to the war fund; failing which, he would be prosecuted as a foe to Egypt—“for the public safety.”
“Aha!” laughed the old Pasha in his thin, cracked voice. “A French model, by my beard! For men who would eschew all foreign influence! That is the hand of Tulbah, not Arâbi. The mountebanks! The silly children—apish imitators!”
“By your Excellency’s leave the matter is extremely serious—for me at least,” groaned out the owner of the notice.
“Thou wilt make the contribution?” inquired Yûsuf.
“Better flee,” remarked another.
And then they all began to talk together in low whispers with frightened glances round the room, for spies were everywhere. Flight was now hopeless, everyone agreed; nothing remained but to feign ardour in Arâbi’s cause, give up communication with the loyalists at Alexandria, and pray for the usurper’s overthrow.
“They cannot last, I tell you,” chuckled the old Pasha. “These fellahin are quite unfit for government. The young Khedive has been too kind. He has not whipped them. My son and I were present when his father warned him to execute these men, his creatures, who had tasted power. A sad mistake, by Allah! For, Allah knows, we do not want the English in this land. My lifework, that of all the old diplomatists, has been to stave off European interference, by compliments, by guile, by small concessions. O Allah, let me die before the evil day! The Lord preserve us from the domination of the infidels!”
The old man dropped his hands and hung his head.
“Better the English than this present anarchy,” another murmured. “Already the whole land is overrun by gangs of brigands. The streets here in the capital grow dangerous. There is no order kept except among the soldiers. All trade, all enterprise is at a standstill, and every public undertaking goes to ruin. Already all the people hate Arâbi.”
“The Lord deliver us,” said Yûsuf, “from him and from the English both. A dreadful quandary!”
When he went forth to his carriage, still in waiting, he told his slave to have his pistols ready, and himself examined the revolver which he carried. He wrapped a shawl about his face to pass unrecognized and, thus protected and disguised, drove through the darkling streets, where every wayfarer betrayed the like anxiety. Only the street-dogs went about their work as usual, prowling along the walls in search of offal.
At his own door a man accosted him. It was one of his paid spies. He led the way across the hall into his private room.
“What news?” he questioned.
“May Allah turn it to thy good!” the spy replied, with his profoundest reverence. “I have it from a member of the new Committee that your Highness is marked down as a suspected notable. They say it may mean destitution, even death.”
“I thank thee,” murmured Yûsuf and dismissed the man. Directly he was gone he called Ghandûr and said:
“Didst thou not tell me, O beloved, that thou hadst some relative a member of the new Committee for the Public Safety?”
“Yes, O my lord! The person is my father’s brother, a small merchant.”
“Where is their place of meeting?”
“I can show it thee.”
“Do they meet every day?”
“I think so, but will ascertain.”
“Good. I shall wait upon them in the morning. At daybreak take ten pounds out of the treasury and carry it to thy relation to bespeak his favour.”
“Has aught untoward happened?”
“Untoward? Listen!” Yûsuf told the story.
“Merciful Allah! How can such things be?” exclaimed Ghandûr. “We are the greatest in the land, they—filthy upstarts. How much does my good lord propose to give?”
“A thousand pounds were not too much to save my life.”
“Deign but to hear my counsel! Give a hundred and ask leave for thy son to join the army. He is prostrated by thy late refusal. His going will prove more than any gift of money that thy heart is with the cause—which, Allah knows, may be the right one, since our lord has chosen to put trust in infidels.
