The events of this fateful night, numerous though they had been, were not yet ended.  
Leaving the women to care for the dead man the Khan had withdrawn¹ to his state apartment, taking with him the Persian, Dr. Warner and Colonel Moore, as well as David the Jew.
 
“It is best that all mysteries and misunderstandings be cleared up at once,” said the young ruler, when his guests had been seated. “The hour is late, but I believe you will prefer not to rest until you have become acquainted with the facts that explain my presence here as the Khan of Mekran. But there are others in the palace who are entitled to hear the story, and with your permission I will ask them to join us.”
 
The Colonel nodded consent. He was yet too dazed by the appalling² tragedy of the hour to command more than a listless interest in these consequent proceedings⁴. Dr. Warner was grave and thoughtful, but seemed to realize intuitively that fate had been kind to his old friend in removing Allison from his life. After the first shock of grief had passed the Colonel himself would acknowledge this. The boy had been a thorn in his side for many years.
 
“Dirrag,” said the Khan, “tell Captain Beni-Bouraz to unbind his prisoners; and do you lead them here to me.”
 
They sat in silence until the command was obeyed, and Kasam and the aged³ vizier entered the room.
 
The Prince carried himself rather better in misfortune than when free to direct his own actions. He appeared composed and dignified⁵, accepting his fate with a stout⁶ heart and seemingly without desire to bemoan⁷ the triumph of his enemy. Agahr’s face was sternly set. What his thoughts might be none could tell.
 
The Khan greeted his prisoners courteously⁸, and waited until they had seated themselves before he began to speak.
 
“Gentlemen,” said he, addressing the entire group, “events have occurred this night which render it necessary that you be made acquainted with some portions of my life history that you are now ignorant of. A few minutes ago Colonel Moore accused me of being an impostor, because seven years ago he knew me in America as Howard Osborne.”
 
Kasam gave a start at these words.
 
“I have never believed you were a Baluch,” he said, scornfully. “You were foisted⁹ upon us by that false mufti of Mehmet, Salaman, to further some interest of his own.”
 
“It is true that I am not the son of Burah Khan,” responded the other, in even tones. “My father is Dr. Merad Osborne, known to the people of Mekran as a Persian physician, and now here to verify my statement.”
 
All eyes were turned upon the dark visage of the tall physician, seeking in vain a resemblance between the two men that would lend truth to the astonishing assertion.
 
Merad smiled.
 
“I will tell you my story,” he said, “and then you will understand us better.”
 
“I, for one, do not care to hear it,” exclaimed Kasam, with scarcely suppressed eagerness. “If this man is no son of Burah Khan, he stands before us a fraudulent usurper¹⁰, and the throne of Mekran belongs to me!”
 
“Not so,” answered a clear voice, speaking in English, and the white-robed priest of Takkatu pressed through the group and stood before the Prince. “Ahmed Khan sits upon his throne by a better right than you can ever boast, Prince Kasam of Raab!”
 
Kasam was about to retort angrily, but he marked the jewelled star upon Salaman’s breast and controlled himself to bow low before the emblem¹¹. England had not wholly driven out of the young Baluch’s heart the faith of his fathers.
 
“Your words are strange, my father,” he murmured, still somewhat rebelliously¹². “Is not this man acknowledged to be the son of Merad?”
 
“And who is Merad?” asked the priest, gravely.
 
“I do not know, my father.”
 
“Tell him, Merad.”
 
“I am the son of Keedar Khan,” said the physician, proudly.
 
A cry of surprise burst from his hearers. Even the vizier, who knew no English, caught the name of Keedar Khan and looked upon the Persian with curious eyes.
 
“I believe,” said Kasam, brokenly, “it will be best to hear your story.”
 
The priest stepped back, giving place to the physician.
 
“Keedar Khan had two legitimate¹³ sons,” began Merad, “of whom I was the younger by several years. My brother Burah was fierce and warlike, and realizing that I might at some time stand in the way of his ambition and so meet destruction, I fled as a youth to Teheran, where I was educated as a physician by the aid of secret funds furnished by my father. When Keedar died and Burah ascended¹⁴ the throne I wandered through many lands until I finally came to America, where I met and loved Howard’s mother, the daughter of a modest New York merchant named Osborne. In wedding her I took her name, my own being difficult for the English-speaking tongue to pronounce, and from that time I became known as Dr. Merad Osborne, a physician fairly skilled in the science of medicines.
 
“Our son grew to manhood and became the private secretary of Colonel Moore. In appearance he favored his mother, rather than me, having her eyes and hair as well as the sturdy physique of the Osbornes. Seven years ago, or a little more, the catastroph............