“From what the people here tell me about the desert, sir, I don’t think we shall; but there, I’m not going to grumble, sir. An hour’s time, eh?”
“Yes, in less now. Then the Sheikh will be here with the camels.”
“To take us right away into the desert, sir. Do you think he’s safe?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, I hope he is, sir; but if he means mischief and plays any games when he’s got us right away from the police, I just hope he won’t ask me to shave his head again.”
“Why?” said Frank, smiling.
“Why, sir? Well, because it won’t be safe.”
It was about nine o’clock, the moon past the full, rising, richly golden of hue, in the east, and the air moist and fragrant with the cloying scent of the orange trees, when with a strange feeling of unreality about the whole proceeding, the little English party passed the groups of visitors smoking and chatting in the garden, or listening to the strains of a very excellent band. It almost seemed to the doctor that he ought to go and occupy the seat he had found so pleasant on the previous night; but the professor was by his side talking earnestly of the peculiarities of a night ride in the desert, and Frank was close behind with Sam.
In another minute they were in an open court, where, looking mysterious and strange, were a group of about a dozen camels and their leaders, in front of whom stood the figure of the Sheikh, his white robes and turban looking thoroughly in keeping with the strangely formed animals, four of which were keeping up a peculiar, querulous, discontented whining grunt, and turning their heads from side to side in their disgust at being laden with portmanteaus and bags, while their fellows had been allowed to go scot-free.
And now all seemed more unreal than ever; and anything less like a start upon so dangerous an expedition it would have been impossible to imagine.