It was the melody to which
Durrance had listened in the street of Tewfikieh on the eve of his last
journey into the desert; and which Ethne Eustace had played only the
night before in the quiet drawing-room at Southpool. It was the only
melody which Feversham knew. When he had done Nejoumi began again.
"You are a spy."
"I have told you the truth," answered Feversham, stubbornly, and Nejoumi
took a different tone. He called for food, and the raw liver of a camel,
covered with salt and red pepper, was placed before Feversham. Seldom
has a man had smaller inclination to eat, but Feversham ate, none the
less, even of that unattractive dish, knowing well that reluctance would
be construed as fear, and that the signs of fear might condemn him to
death. And, while he ate, Nejoumi questioned him, in the silkiest voice,
about the fortifications of Cairo and the strength of the garrison at
Assouan, and the rumours of dissension between the Khedive and the
Sirdar.
But to each question Feversham replied:--
"How should a Greek know of these matters?"
Nejoumi rose from his angareb and roughly gave an order. The soldiers
seized upon Feversham and dragged him out again into the sunlight.
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