“By Jove, I got it!” cried Belmont.
“He's trying to speak English. Tippy Tilly is as near as he can get to Egyptian Artillery. He has served in the Egyptian Artillery under Bimbashi Mortimer. He was taken prisoner when Hicks Pasha was destroyed, and had to turn Dervish to save his skin. How's that?”
The Colonel said a few words of Arabic and received a reply, but two of the Arabs closed up, and the negro quickened his pace and left them.
“You are quite right,” said the Colonel. “The fellow is friendly to us, and would rather fight for the Khedive than for the Khalifa. I don't know that he can do us any good, but I've been in worse holes than this, and come out right side up. After all, we are not out of reach of pursuit, and won't be for another forty-eight hours.”
Belmont calculated the matter out in his slow, deliberate fashion.
“It was about twelve that we were on the rock,” said he. “They would become alarmed aboard the steamer if we did not appear at two.”
“Yes,” the Colonel interrupted, “that was to be our lunch hour. I remember saying that when I came back I would have——Oh, Lord, it's best not to think about it!”
“The reis was a sleepy old crock,” Belmont continued; “but I have absolute confidence in the promptness and decision of my wife. She would insist upon an immediate alarm being given. Suppose they started back at two-thirty, they should be at Haifa by three, since the journey is down stream. How long did they say that it took to turn out the Camel Corps?”
“Give them an hour.”
“And another hour to get them across the river. They would be at the Abousir Rock and pick up the tracks by six o'clock. After that it is a clear race. We are only four hours ahead, and some of these beasts are very spent. We may be saved yet, Cochrane!”