But the spear never reached him. For as the warrior lunged from
the shoulder, one of the four guards jerked the neck chain violently
from behind, and the prisoner was flung, half throttled, upon his back.
Three times, and each time to a roar of delight, this pastime was
repeated, and then a soldier appeared in the gateway of Nejoumi's house.
"Bring him in!" he cried; and followed by the curses and threats of the
crowd, the prisoner was dragged under the arch across a courtyard into a
dark room.
For a few moments Feversham could see nothing. Then his eyes began to
adapt themselves to the gloom, and he distinguished a tall, bearded man,
who sat upon an angareb, the native bedstead of the Soudan, and two
others, who squatted beside him on the ground. The man on the angareb
was the Emir.
"You are a spy of the Government from Wadi Halfa," he said.
"No, I am a musician," returned the prisoner, and he laughed happily,
like a man that has made a jest.
Nejoumi made a sign, and an instrument with many broken strings was
handed to the captive. Feversham seated himself upon the ground, and
with slow, fumbling fingers, breathing hard as he bent over the zither,
he began to elicit a wavering melody.
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