“You can bring it,” he said to Hassan.

When Hassan came up with the tea Isaacson gave him a cigarette, and, instead of getting rid of him, began to talk, or rather to set Hassan talking.

“What’s the name of the tall boy who met us on the Loulia?”

“Ibrahim, my gentleman.”

Ibrahim—­the name that was mentioned in Nigel’s letter as that of the Egyptian who had arranged for the hire by Nigel of the Loulia.  Isaacson encouraged Hassan to talk about Ibrahim, while he kept still and sipped his tea and lemon.

It seemed that Ibrahim was a great friend of Hassan’s; in fact, Hassan’s greatest friend.  He and Hassan were like brothers.  Also, Hassan loved Ibrahim as he loved his father, and Ibrahim thought of Hassan with as much respect and admiration as he dedicated to his own mother.

Isaacson was impressed.  His temples felt as if they were being pinched, as if somebody was trying gently to squeeze them together.  Yet he was able to listen and to encourage, and to know why he was doing both.

Hassan flowed on with a native volubility, revealing his own and Ibrahim’s affairs, and presently it appeared that at this moment Ibrahim was not at all pleased, not at all happy, on board the Loulia.  Why was this?  Isaacson asked.  The reason was that he had been supplanted—­he who had been efficient, devoted, inspired, and capable beyond what could be looked for from any other Egyptian, or indeed from any other sentient being.  Hassan’s hands became tragic and violent as he talked.  He showed his teeth and seemed burning with fury.  And who has done this monstrous thing?  Isaacson dropped out the enquiry.  Hamza—­him who prayed.  That was the answer.  And it was through Ibrahim that Hamza had entered the service of my Lord Arminigel; it was Ibrahim’s unexampled generosity and nobility that had brought Hamza to the chance of this treachery.

Then Ibrahim had been first in the service of the Armines?

Very soon Isaacson knew that Mohammed, “the best donkey-boy of Luxor,” had been driven out to make room for Hamza, while “my Lord Arminigel” had been away in the Fayyum, and that now Hamza had been permitted to take Ibrahim’s place as the personal attendant on my lord.

“Hamza him wait on my lord, give him his drink, give him his meat, give him his sick-food”—­i.e., medicine—­’give him everythin’.

And meanwhile Ibrahim, though always well paid and well treated, had sunk out of importance, and was become, in the eyes of men, “like one dog what eat where him can and sleepin’ nowheres.”

Who had driven out Mohammed?  Isaacson was interested to know that.  He was informed, with the usual variations of the East, that Mrs. Armine had wanted Hamza.  “She likin’ him because him always prayin’.”  The last sentence seemed to throw doubt upon all that had gone before.  But as Isaacson lay back, having dismissed Hassan, and strove to rest, he continually saw the beautiful Hamza before him, beautiful because wonderfully typical, shrouded and drenched in the spirit of the East, a still fanatic with fatal eyes.