“I feel satisfied,” said the doctor. “We did not come here of our own accord, but were brought. We had better have him in, and as if by our orders Hal can question him.”
There was no opposition to this, and one of the camel-drivers was fetched and sent down to the gate, while Harry lay down with his bandaged arm exposed, on an angareb close to the door, where he lay looking ghastly and feeble by the light of the lamp.
The officer came at once, and the professor made him understand what was required, when he turned to the injured prisoner, who soon proved that he could speak the desert Arabic tongue pretty well.
“The great doctor,” he said, “is thinking about his servant the Sheikh. Where is he?”
“I fear that he is dead,” was the reply. “I told him when he went out that he carried his life in his hand.”
“But why should he be slain?” asked Harry. “He was no fighting man.”
“Because no man’s life is safe,” was the reply. “He went out upon one of the Hakim’s camels, and any dervish who wanted one of the beasts would have followed him. Hundreds in the town want camels and horses now, and if the Sheikh gave his up quietly to the man who asked, it would be well. If he refused, a thrust from a spear or a blow from a knife would be sufficient.”
“Then I am to tell the Hakim he will not return?”
“No. Tell him that he may return, but that I fear he will not. Tell him, too, that he is to be ready, for we may have to leave here soon after it is light.”
Harry signified that he would, and then started, for the officer said suddenly—