"Let us go to Amos," he said, speaking the words with difficulty, for he
was choking with fear for his son.
"Wait," answered the Arab; "I will come again to-night and bring some
friends with me, two men who will be glad to serve you. We Arabs are not
sorry to strike at the Jews; we have our own wrongs. Wait here till I
come."
"But what will you do?" asked Madam Marx, looking anxiously on the man
she loved, though her words were for the Arab.
"Gregorio will ask for his son. If the old man refuses to restore
him, or denies that he has taken him, then we will know the worst, and
then--"
Gregorio's knife-blade glittered in the sunset rays, as he tested its
sharpness between thumb and finger. The Arab watched with a smile.
"We understand one another," he said. There was no need to finish the
description of his plan. With a solemn wave of his hand he left the
cafe.
"That man Ahmed," said Madam Marx, "has a grudge against Amos. It
dates from the bombardment, and he had waited all these years to avenge
himself. I believe it was the loss of his wife."
"Amos made her a Jewess, eh?" And then, after a pause, Gregorio added:
"So we can depend on Ahmed.
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