Abd el Rahman, the Great Apostate, as a living
man, had forever passed from the sight of the Flying Legion.
His departure, in so abrupt and deadly simple a manner, gave the
Master some highly conflicting thoughts. The fact that no blood was
ever to be shed in this city had reassuring aspects. On the other
hand, how many of these Maghrabi stranglers did Bara Miyan keep as a
standing army? A Praetorian guard of men with gorilla-hands like the
two already seen might, in a close corner, prove more formidable than
men armed with the archaic firearms of the place or with cold steel.
A sensation of considerable uneasiness crept over the Master as he
pondered the huge strength and docility of these two executioners.
It was only by reflecting that the renegade Sheik would gladly have
murdered the whole Legion, and that now (by a kind of poetic justice)
he had been delivered back into the hands of the Sunnites he had so
long defied and outraged, that the Master could smooth his conscience
for having done this thing.
The direct, efficient way, however, in which Bara Miyan dealt with one
held as an enemy, urged the Master to press forward the ceremony of
giving and taking salt.
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