With a swift movement he hid the jewel and started to walk away.

Then bethinking him that it would be well to make sure that this fellow was dead or sleeping, he turned and kicked the prostrate Mesrour upon the back and with all his strength.

Indeed, he did this thrice, putting the eunuch to the greatest agony.
"I thought I saw him move," Abdullah muttered after the third kick; "it is best to make sure," and he drew his knife.
Now, had not terror paralysed him, Mesrour would have cried out, but fortunately for himself, before he found his voice Abdullah had buried the knife three inches deep in his fat thigh.

With an effort Mesrour bore this also, knowing that if he showed signs of life the next stroke would be in his heart.

Then, satisfied that this fellow, whoever he might be, was either a corpse or insensible, Abdullah drew out the knife, wiped it on his victim's robe, and departed.
Not long afterwards Mesrour departed also, towards the Sultan's house, bellowing with rage and pain and vowing vengeance.
It was not long delayed.
That very night Abdullah was seized and put to the question.