He held his
turbaned head proudly, and, glancing at Caird as he passed, seemed not
to see him, but rather to see through him something more interesting
beyond.
Nevill still waited for his friend, but fully two minutes had gone
before Stephen appeared. "Did you see that fellow in the red cloak?" he
asked. "That was the Arab of the ship."
"Si Maieddine----"
"Yes. Did you notice a queer brooch that held his cloak together? A
wheel-like thing, set with jewels?"
"No. He hadn't it on. His cloak was hanging open."
"By Jove! You're sure?"
"Certain. I saw the whole breast of his coat."
"That settles it, then. He did recognize me. Hang it, I wish he hadn't."
"I don't know what's in your mind exactly. But I suppose you'll tell
me."
"Rather. But no time now. We mustn't lose sight of him if we can help
it. I wanted to follow him up, on the instant, but didn't dare, for I
hoped he'd think I hadn't spotted him. He can't be sure, anyhow, for I
had the presence of mind not to stare. Let's go up now. He was on his
way to pay his respects to the Governor, I suppose. He can't have
slipped away yet."
"It would seem not," Nevill assented, thoughtfully.
But a few minutes later, it seemed that he had. And Nevill was not
surprised, for in the last nine years he had learned never to wonder at
the quick-witted diplomacy of Arabs. Si Maieddine had made short work
of his compliments to the Governor, and had passed out of sight by the
time that Stephen Knight and Nevill Caird escaped from the line of
Europeans and gorgeous Arabs pressing towards their host.
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