"What's the row?" he calmly wanted to know—too calmly to suit my ruffled mood.
"A thief, that's all," I answered, hastily searching under the pillow where the unseen hand had been. Sheet and pillow-case were slimy with oil, yet the chamois-skin bag was safe. "But he didn't get what he wanted!" I finished.
"Good," said Anthony, who had lighted both candles. "Let's go look for him."
"I've been, and couldn't see anything."
"I know. I heard a sound. I sang out, and you didn't answer, so I thought something must be up. Let's have another try. I've got Miss Gilder's watch."
I slipped Biddy's bag into the pocket of my pyjamas, and pulling on our boots we went out into the night.
"It's their tent I'm thinking of," I said, though I'd never talked of Brigit O'Brien's affairs to Fenton. "If some one had planned to rob them, not knowing of the change we made at the last minute—"
"All our Arabs did know—"
"I'm not talking of them. We've been here two days. Any one could have spied on us enough to find out which tent was Mrs. Jones' and Miss Gilder's."
"You're thinking of Bedr?"