"Haven't you opened the box since then?" inquired the Consul-General.
"No, I don't think I have looked at it since I left Karachi."
"Well, probably the inquisitive steward went through your belongings while you were on shore at Muskat, in hopes of finding a stray bank-note, and I expect in his hurry he omitted to put all the papers back."
So we forgot all about the incident, and the following morning Edwards and I, with our cavalcade of pack-horses, and our soldierly-looking escort, left the Residency, and riding down the dirty, narrow lane to the bazaar, crossed the quaint old bridge of boats and got away into the desert beyond. As we looked back we saw the Consul-General in a kufa in mid-stream waving a last farewell to us, and then we put our little Arab horses into a canter, and soon settled down for the ride to the khan (or caravanserai) of Mahmoudieh. It was late when we reached the solid gate of the khan, and it was closed for the night, but we managed to find accommodation in the little coffee shanty just outside.
A couple of Bedouin chiefs were in possession of the only room, so the verandah was handed over to us, and, the night being warm, it was far pleasanter than being inside, though the corporal of our escort did not at all like the arrangement, and tried to persuade us that it was most unsafe to sleep as it were in the open, in a country which was known to be swarming with robbers and cutthroats. Being Englishmen, we laughed at the corporal's fears, and after supper and a smoke we turned in on the frail wicker-work, crate-like beds that had been provided for us, taking the precaution, however, to have our revolvers handy, and to put everything of value either under the beds or under our bodies. How long we had slept I cannot say; I had been dreaming hard, and I had dreamt that I had found the Golden Girdle—I held it in my hand and gazed at it in wonder—I found the clasp—with great difficulty I unfastened it—I put it round my waist—I felt for the clasp to fasten it—nothing would induce it to close. I pulled with all my might—the Girdle was too small for my waist. I seized both ends in my hands, held my breath, and pulled again. My waist was growing smaller and smaller—my body seemed to be breaking in half. I gave a wild yell, and the clasp snapped with a report like that of a pistol shot. And it was indeed a pistol shot.
As I awoke with a start, I found that the whole place was in a wild state of commotion; the zaptiehs were all around us with lanterns, and Edwards was standing by the side of his bed, with revolver in hand.
"What on earth is the matter?" I asked.
"Had a shot at a blackguard trying to loot our kit, but failed to score, I am afraid," was the reply.
Then Edwards told us all about it; how he had been aroused by my restlessness, how he saw, in the moonlight, two men kneeling close to my bed, and how he quietly took his revolver from under his pillow, and sprang up, only, however, in time to get a flying shot at the men as they made off. Their horses were just outside the verandah, and the thieves were on them and away before he could get another shot in. Our troopers wanted to go in pursuit, but it would have been perfectly useless their going out into the desert, as they had not the remotest idea which road to follow; so we contented ourselves with the examination of our belongings, to see what we had lost. My heart absolutely stopped beating when I discovered that my money-belt had gone from my waist. It was a chamois-leather belt that I had had specially made in England, with neat little pockets all round it, in which I carried the whole of my money—about £50 in sovereigns, and a certain number of silver kerans and rupees.
We were not long in finding out who the thieves were, as the owner of the house came running out to tell us that the two Bedouin chiefs had disappeared without paying for their supper or lodgings. Then I remembered that one of them had passed through the verandah to the inner room while I was fastening the belt over my sleeping-suit, and he must have noticed what I was doing, and guessed that the belt was worth having. My dream all came back to me, and of course my long struggle with the Golden Girdle was probably caused by the Bedouins taking off my belt; but I cannot imagine how they got it off without awakening me. It was gone; there was no doubt about that; and, turning to the coffee-house man, I demanded what he knew of his two runaway guests.