So I resigned myself to the long wait, crouching there in the darkness of our stone vault.
“How long will these men stay?” I asked at length.
“When the khamsin ends they will go; unless the camel-men betray us.”
“And can you trust them?”
“I trust no Arab. But they know it is death to betray me. But one can come in here at a time. Allah is very merciful and my knife is sharp. Many would die before Jakoub is taken. If the Excellency will agree now to make no light or sound, I go to wait by the entry. It will soon be day and a little light will come then. But to one from outside it will be dark in here. He would feel the knife of Jakoub before he saw it, and then he would see no more.”
“Go, Jakoub,” I said, “I will not move.”
There was no sound but I somehow felt that Jakoub was withdrawn from close beside me.
For a long time, as it seemed to me, I crouched there, my hands clasped round my knees, wondering if I were destined to be the helpless witness of a murder or series of murders.
But gradually the strain on my mind, the heat and the close unchanged air numbed my spirits. I sank back thankfully on my rug, and slept as soundly as though I were back in my own vicarage.
I awoke unwillingly and unrested. There was a dim light by which I could just discern the graven rock that formed the walls and roof of our refuge—or our prison.