MY boat did not sail until the following day, and I now felt a degree of mental and bodily lassitude and exhaustion that prevented my having any pleasure in the prospect of my last day in Egypt. I suffered from a profound nostalgia and craved only to be home. I had the feeling that I should never see my experiences in perspective until I saw them from my own study. Much as I dreaded the sight of him, I yet longed to see Jakoub, to have a final reckoning with him, to find out at least his intentions and know the worst; but Jakoub did not appear, and I had not the faintest idea how to find him.
I was very lonely and depressed as I gave notice to the hotel people that I should leave the following morning.
Van Ermengen had kept out of my way since our last interview, but the news of my departure brought him at once to see me.
His manner was grave and courteous as he bade me good morning. “Excuse me,” he said, “but I understand you sail to-morrow?”
“That is so.”
“Have you any instructions about the—ah—the goods in your room?”
“No; I don’t think I have, thank you.”
“They cannot remain here, you know.”
“Of course not.” I fear I was spitefully enjoying his perplexity and deliberately prolonging it.
“But you cannot take them with you.”