As he spoke, the sound of a strange, wild singing came to them, with the desert wind that blew from the south.
"That's a Touareg song," exclaimed Saidee, turning. "It isn't Arab. I've heard Touaregs sing it, coming to the Zaouïa."
"Madame is right," said the landlord. "I, too, have heard Touaregs sing it, in their own country, and also when they have passed here, in small bands. Perhaps we have deceived ourselves. Perhaps we are not to enjoy the pleasure of a fight. I feared it was too good to be true."
"I can see a caravan," cried Nevill, from his cell in a wall-tower. "There seem to be a lot of men."
"Would they come like that, if they wanted to fight?" asked the girl. "Wouldn't they spread out, and hope to surprise us?"
"They'll either try to rush the gate, or else they'll pretend to be a peaceful caravan," said Stephen.
"I see! Get the landlord to let their leaders in, and then.... That's why they sing the Touareg song, perhaps, to put us off our guard."
"Into the dining-room, both of you, and have courage! Whatever happens, don't come out. Will you give me the mirror?"
"Must you go?"
"Yes. Be quick, please."