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A violent attack of fever, made more serious and difficult to throw off by the overwrought condition of his nerves, kept Michael a helpless exile in the hands of the hospitable but somewhat ignorant Omdeh and the devoted Abdul. When the fever was at its height, Michael was very often delirious; in his ramblings he let the discreet Abdul see deep down into the secret hiding-places of his heart.
You've been awfully kind. It's time I was on my way." "Where are you going to?" "Back to my camp." "Back to your camp? where did you leave it?" Michael told him. "Then did you come on here on purpose to visit this dig? Had you heard of it before you saw the Omdeh in the underground village?" "I'd rather not answer your question at present, if you don't mind.
Locked away in his obscure cell in the centre of the Moslem university-mosque, how could he know what was going to happen in the great countries of Europe? He would find it difficult, no doubt, to assign to England her correct position on the map. And yet his warnings were strangely intense. Had they any connection with the tales of political sedition of which the Omdeh had so often spoken?
To Michael the Omdeh's selamlik seemed like a foretaste of paradise. The Omdeh was a courteous old gentleman, who played the part of host and government official with a simple dignity and friendly hospitality. The open front of the selamlik faced a beautiful orange orchard; low seats, comfortably cushioned, ran round its three walls. The Omdeh sat on his feet on his mastaba.
An overwhelming pity for the ignorant, subterranean people, who were content to live like rats in their holes, filled his soul. How could the Omdeh permit it? He seemed kind and he knew that he was intelligent. Probably when the poor were in trouble they instinctively came to him; he administered the affairs of the village, no doubt, with scrupulous impartiality.
Who has discovered it?" He managed to speak calmly and without emotion. The Omdeh threw back his head. "It is not worth a wise man's breath inquiring. It is but one of the many foolish fables which travel with the winds." He shrugged his shoulders. "What started the rumour? Where did it originate? There is generally some fire where there's smoke." "Where do such things have their birth?
It was delicious, or so Abdul thought, to sit with his master and the Omdeh in the cool garden, under the shade of a fantastic arbour, darkened by the leaves of oleanders and other semi-tropical trees, and there listen to the songs of famous Arab singers, or to the music of the 'ood, or the nay, a picturesque native flute, made out of a reed about half a yard in length, pierced with holes.
They imagined that it was to visit the ancient Pharaoh's tomb. Just as they were leaving the orchard the Omdeh said: "There have been strange rumours afloat, Effendi. Men say that a wealth of buried treasure has been discovered in the hills to which you are travelling. Is it known to you?" "Indeed?" Michael said evasively. "What sort of treasure? Do the authorities know of it?
I assured the Effendi it would be wiser for him only to pay his respects to the Omdeh and not to pass through his village." Abdul darted into one of the houses, whose open front was flush with the rock-wall of the street, which was simply a tunnel in a vast rock; he returned with a palm-leaf fan; a half-piastre had purchased it.
The Omdeh, with native hospitality, had tried to persuade his guest to remain with him for some days, or if he could not do that, to at least do honour to his humble house by spending one night in it.
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