“He’ll soon collect another,” her friend replied. “I expect that’s the Grand Chief Eunuch he’s talking to now.”
“Did you get my note?” asked Muriel, anxious to change the subject.
“Yes,” she smiled, “and your esteemed orders received the prompt attention of our Mr. Bindane, who ’phoned your papa, and ordered the car, and made himself quite useful.”
After the tragic death of Rupert Helsingham, four weeks ago, Kate Bindane had taken a gloomy aversion to their steamer, and had persuaded her husband to get rid of it, and to come out to this hotel on the edge of the desert. Muriel had, on more than one occasion, spent the night here with them in their comfortable suite of rooms; and now as she said “good-bye,” she made arrangements for future meetings and visits, while Daniel, in a spasm of hospitality, suggested that they should make use of his camp as an occasional halting-place.
“During the day, while I’m at work in Cairo,” he said, “you can make use of my tents. I’ll tell my servant to look after you.”
Kate Bindane laughed. “O, come now,” she answered, “that’s driving your birds right over my gun. It makes shooting too easy.”
Daniel was perplexed. “What d’you mean?” he asked, as he seated himself beside Muriel in the car.
“Well,” said Mrs. Bindane, “you’ve got the reputation of being a bit short with your fellow men; but to say you’ll be glad to entertain us provided that you yourself are not there is the limit.”
Muriel turned to Daniel. “She’s only joking,” she assured him; “that’s her way.”
Kate uttered an exclamation. “Oh, you little swine!” she said to Muriel. “You’re on his side now!”