Once or twice Dick looked back to see if Zenas was following. Terror had given the old man strength, and he was not far from the boy’s heels.
Even when the devotees of Mohammed fell on their knees and began beating their heads on the ground, the fugitives continued to thread their way amid the half-prostrate figures.
Dick did not know which way Assouan had gone, but he did know it was best for them to get as far as possible from the vicinity of the German hotel.
Of course, he hoped the black servant of Ras al Had would again appear, but he did not linger to look around for him.
They were fortunate in getting out of the thickest of the crowd before the devotees had finished praying.
“That sure was a close call,” muttered Buckhart. “I reckoned we were all goners.”
“Why didn’t you leave me, boys?” asked the professor. “I was keeping silent to give you time to escape.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Dick resentfully. “I hope you don’t think we’re that sort!”
“I hope so some myself!” growled the Texan. “Where is that thundering nig—I mean colored gent?”
“He’s skipped,” said Dick.