"I am honestly glad to hear it," I replied, and, indeed, I was.
"It's a mare's nest," declared the Englishman.
"Oh!" said I. "This Pinsent is a desperate fellow and resourceful. Do you know, he actually tried single-handed to seize that launch."
"The Swallow!" cried the Englishman. "Impossible."
"On the contrary!" I retorted. "He succeeded. He stands before you. My name is Pinsent. Permit me!"
He was a trifle slow-witted, I fancy. He still looked puzzled, when his face emerged above the Nile water, after his dive. But I would not let him return to the punt. Immediately I discovered that the Arabs were only armed with knives. I had taken the trouble to throw overboard all the firearms that I could find on the Swallow; so I just drove them aboard the launch and ordered the Frenchman to sheer off and return to Rakh. He was charmed at the permission.
The Englishman fired at me twice from the water, but he had to keep himself afloat, so he naturally missed. When he was well-nigh drowned I hauled him up with a boat hook. It was easy to disarm him in that condition. I had intended to put him on the tug, but I waited too long. The tug cut the tow rope before my eyes and without so much as by your leave puffed after the Swallow. The Englishman and I were thus left lonely on the punt; in middle stream. The current was fairly strong at that point and making towards a long, low-lying sweep of reedy flats. I had no mind to land there, however, so after tying up the Englishman neck and crop, I contrived to hoist a sail and steered for the opposite bank.
The Englishman and I had nothing to say to each other. No doubt he recognised the futility of conversation in the circumstances; as for me, I never felt less inclined to talk. About five o'clock we grounded under the lee of a pretty little promontory. It was populated with crocodiles. Nice companions—at a distance—crocodiles—musky-smelling brutes.