If Ali Tschorbadschi had a fortune of eleven thousand ducats, that would not weigh more than sixteen pounds; of all metals, gold has the smallest volume in proportion to its weight. Sixteen pounds of ducats could be packed in a knapsack, which a man could carry on his back a long way, even on foot. Why was the Turk obliged to change it into grain and load a cargo-ship with it, which would take a month and a half for its voyage, and have to struggle with storms, eddies, rocks, and shallows--which might be delayed by quarantine and custom-houses--when he could have carried his treasure with him in his knapsack, and by making his way cautiously on foot over mountain and river, could have reached Hungary safely in a couple of weeks?
The key to this problem was not to be found.
And another riddle was connected with this one. If Ali's treasure (whether honestly come by or not) only consists of eleven or twelve thousand ducats altogether, why does the Turkish Government institute a pursuit on such a large scale, sending a brigantine with four-and-twenty rowers, and spies and couriers after him? What would be a heap of money for a poor supercargo is for his highness the Padischa only a trifle; and even if it had been possible to lay an embargo on the whole cargo, representing a value of ten or twelve thousand ducats, by the time it had passed through the fingers of all the informers, tax-collectors, and other official cut-purses, there would be hardly enough left for the sultan to fill his pipe with.
Was it not ridiculous to set such great machinery in motion in order to secure so small a prize?
Or was it not so much the money as Timéa that was the object? Timar had enough romance about him to find this a plausible assumption, however little it agreed with a supercargo's one-times-one multiplication table.
One evening the wind dispersed the clouds, and when Timar looked out of his cabin window he saw on the western horizon the crescent moon.
The glowing sickle seemed to touch the glassy surface of the Danube. It looked to Timar as if it really had a human face, as it is depicted in the almanacs, and as if it said something to him with its crooked mouth. Only that he could not always understand--it is a strange language.