The man with the glass waved his hat, and two other men hurried up to the dhow’s stern.
“Come along. Let’s go aboard her now,” Bennett exclaimed, on fire with impatience.
Elliott looked sharply at Margaret. She was flushed with excitement, as he could see in the quick tropic twilight, and her lips were set in a determined line. Her baggage was hurried on deck and sent down into a shore-boat at the end of a line, and in another minute they were being ferried to the dhow.
CHAPTER XVI. THE END OF THE TRAIL
“Elliott! Thank heaven!—is that you at last?” exclaimed Henninger, hurrying up to the rail as the boat hooked on the dhow’s side. “Why in the name of everything didn’t you cable as I told you?”
Henninger’s voice had the same imperious ring, though he was dressed in a very dirty flannel shirt and a pair of duck trousers that had long ago been white, supported by a leather belt. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and arms and face were burned to a deep reddish brown. Hawke and Sullivan were dressed as unconventionally as the chief in costumes to which Sullivan’s gold eye-glasses and urban countenance lent the last touch of eccentricity. In the bow was a cluster of half-nude Arabs.
“I didn’t cable because I couldn’t,” Elliott replied. “I don’t know myself where the spot is.”
“What did you mean, then, by saying you had found it? How are you, Bennett?—glad to see you! What—who’s this?” as his eye fell upon Miss Margaret, who had just clambered over the rail. “We don’t want any women aboard here.”
“This is Miss Margaret Laurie, Henninger,” explained Elliott. “She knows where the place is. She has a map of it, and she’s going with us to show us.”
Henninger bowed in acknowledgment of the introduction.