Through all the gloom of my misery I saw, like a golden thread, the humour of our being there together, of my having in my hands the treasure for which he would have ransacked Egypt. Of all men he was one I would most gladly have helped; up to last night. But now I must use all my wits to foil him in his endeavour. I said the word to myself, to “betray” him! Yet I too was on the side of righteousness. I too would stop the issue of this poison. But the achievement of his ambition would destroy my brother, and drag my own name in the mire of disgrace. To deal uprightly was beyond my power now, and there were things I must learn from him.
We agreed that my indisposition must have been a “touch of the sun,” a diagnosis which in Egypt fulfils the same function that the familiar “chill” does at home, and I decided that if I could not shake Brogden off otherwise, I would have a relapse.
He wanted to talk about people and things at home, and anxiety began to make me feel genuinely unwell.
“Tell me,” I said suddenly, “do you know these two Englishmen you are after?”
He looked round uneasily, evidently disinclined to renew his confidences of the night before.
“No,” he said, “I’ve never seen them myself. Not yet.”
“Do you know their names?”
“Oh, I expect they’ve a different name in every port! They’re known to us as Montgomery and Ringrose. Don’t for God’s sake talk about them.”
“I won’t utter a word to a soul. But I’m deeply interested.”
“It is a queer business. Montgomery is said to have the manners of a gentleman. The other one is a regular old shell-back, I believe. Professes to be some kind of sea-captain. They’re both slim, though! By Jove, they’ll want handling.”