Three days elapsed before Pansy returned to full consciousness, and
even then the world was a very hazy place. One morning she woke up,
almost too weak to move, with a feeling that she must have had a bad
attack of fever. She tried to sit up, but Alice, her mulatto maid,
bent over her quickly, pressing her back gently on the pillows.
"No, Missy Pansy," that familiar, crooning voice said with an air of
authority. "De doctor say you stay dere and no move."
Pansy was not at all anxious to move after that one attempt. The
effort had brought knife-like pains cutting through her chest, and she
had had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying out in agony.
All day she lay in silence, sleeping most of the time, when awake,
thankful just to lie still, for even to talk hurt her; grateful when
Alice fed her, because she would rather have gone hungry than have
faced the pain that sitting up entailed.
Sometimes, from outside, came the rattle of harness, the stamp of a
hoof, men's voices talking in a strange language. But Pansy was used
to such sounds now, and thought nothing of them; they had been around
her all the time she had been on tour with her father.
The next day the mist had cleared considerably. Pansy realised she was
in a big tent, not an affair of plain green canvas, such as she had
lived in quite a lot during her expedition into the wilds, but a place
of barbaric splendour. Silk hangings draped the canvas walls; rich
curtains heavily embroidered with gold. The very poles that held the
structure up were of silver, and a heavy silver lamp was suspended from
the central bar. Priceless rugs covered the ground, and here and there
were piles of soft, silk cushions. There were one or two little ebony
tables and stools inlaid with silver and ivory. Her bed was a low
couch of soft silk and down cushions. And on the floor beside her was
a beaten gold tray where jewelled cups reposed, and dishes with
coloured sherbets and other tempting dainties.
Pansy's gaze stayed on Alice in a puzzling manner.
Alice looked much the same, as plump and pretty as ever, but with an
even more "pleased with herself" expression than usual upon her round
smiling face.
From her maid Pansy glanced towards the entrance of the tent. The flap
was fastened back, letting in a flood of fresh, gold-tinged morning
air. Just outside, two dark-faced, white-robed men were stationed,
and, beyond, were others, and a glimpse of trees.
Pansy's eyes stayed on the Arabs guarding her quarters.
In a vague way they were familiar.
With a rush came back the happenings of the afternoon when she had been
having tea with Cameron in the old guardroom.
Men such as those outside had burst in upon them when the brave old
door had given way.
A wave of sickly fear swept over the girl.
Was she a prisoner in the hands of that wild horde?
But, if so, what was she doing in the midst of all this splendour, this
riot of luxury, with the softest of cushions to lie on, the choicest of
silk rugs to cover her, and Alice sitting contentedly at her side?
Perhaps Bob could give her the key to the situation.
"Alice," she said weakly, "run and tell Captain Cameron I want to speak
to him."
"He no be here, Miss Pansy," the girl replied. "He go to de Sultan
Casim Ammeh's city."
Alice pronounced the Sultan's name with gusto. The desert ruler with
his barbaric splendour and troop of wild horsemen had impressed her far
more than the English governor and his retinue. She did not at all
mind being his prisoner. Moreover she was a privileged person, told
off specially by the Sultan to nurse her mistress.
For some moments Pansy pondered on what her maid had said.
"The Sultan Casim Ammeh," Pansy repeated presently, with an air of
bewilderment.
"Dat be him," Alice assured her. "A great big, fine man, awful
good-looking. I see him. An' my heart go all soft. He so rich and
proud and grand. But he no look at me, only at you, Miss Pansy," she
finished, sighing.
Pansy hardly heard this rhapsody over her captor.
His name was familiar but half forgotten, like the fairy tales of her
childhood.
Then she suddenly remembered who and what he was.
The youthful Sultan who, long years ago, had sworn to kill her father
and sell her as a slave!
The man Alice mentioned must be the boy grown up! It must have been
his hordes who had swept down on her and Bob that afternoon.
But it was not of herself that Pansy thought when the truth dawned on
her with vivid, sickening force. In anxiety for her father she forgot
the fate promised for herself.
"My father! What has happened to him?" she asked in quick alarm.
"De Sultan, he catch Sir George too," Alice answered coolly.
Pansy's heart stood still.
"Is he still alive?" she asked breathlessly, horror clutching at her.
"Sir George he go also to the city of El-Ammeh, de Sultan's city."
A feeling of overwhelming relief swept over Pansy on hearing her father
was still alive.
For some minutes she lay brooding on the horrible situation and how she
could best cope with it, all the time feeling as if she were in some
wild nightmare. Then she remembered her own vast riches.
All these Arab chiefs knew the value of money. She might be able to
ransom her father, herself, the whole party.
"Where is the Sultan? Tell him I want to see him," she said suddenly
in a weak, excited way.
"He no be here. He go back to El-Ammeh. You go, too, Miss Pansy, an'
I go wid you, when Doctor Edouard say you be fit to move."
Pansy clutched at the name of Edouard. After that of the Sultan Casim
Ammeh it had a welcome European sound.
"Where is Doctor Edouard? Can I speak to him?" she asked quickly.
She hardly noticed the pain within herself now, torn as she was with
anxiety for her father and friends.
Alice rose, ready to oblige.
"I go fetch him," she said.
Leaving the tent, she interviewed one of the guards. Then she passed
on beyond Pansy's view.
She reappeared some few moments later accompanied by a short, stoutish
man with a pointed, black beard, unmistakably of French nationality,
who was dressed in a neat white drill suit and a sun helmet.
Anxiously Pansy watched him approach, with no room in her mind to think
how he came to be there, a person as European as herself, in this
savage Sultan's following.
"Do tell me what has happened!" she said, without any preliminaries,
the moment he halted at her bedside.
However, Edouard did not tell Pansy much more than she had already
culled for herself. But she learnt that the whole of her father's
party were prisoners in the hands of this desert chief and were now on
their way back to his capital.
"But can't you do something?" she asked in despair.
"I'm virtually a prisoner, like yourself," Edouard replied in a
non-committal tone.
He was not a prisoner, but he was paid a good price for his services
and his silence; and he had no intention of playing an excellent friend
and patron false.
"But is there nothing I can do?" Pansy asked, aghast at her own utter
helplessness.
Edouard smiled, remembering the Sultan's concern for the beautiful
captive girl.
"Yes; there's one thing," he replied in a soothing tone. "Don't worry
about the matter just at present. But when you get to El-Ammeh use all
your personal influence with the Sultan. In the meantime you can rest
assured that no harm will happen to Sir George and his staff.
Afterwards I rather fancy everything depends on you."
With this Pansy had to be content.