We dined in state in the Wimpoles’ dining-tent. It was a lucullan repast of European delicacies varied with African dishes superbly cooked by a French chef; hors d’œuvres, a delicious thin soup, audad steak and Egyptian quail succeeded each other, each course being marked by its appropriate wine from sherry through the whites and reds to cognac.
“Couldn’t bring any champagne”; apologized Lord Wimpole through a mouthful of quail, “tried to but it blew up. No ice in the dam’ desert?”
Lady Sarah looked on coldly as her husband passed through the familiar phrases of garrulity, incoherence and speechlessness. She rose disdainfully just as his lordship slipped heavily from his camp chair. “May I speak to your ladyship a moment ... alone.” I murmured.
She nodded.
“Effendi, remove his lordship.”
I followed her out under the cool stars, whispering to Whinney as I passed, “Get the horses ready, we must away.”
At the edge of the oasis Lady Sarah paused and faced me. We were alone—at last! Overhead a million eyes looked down from the twinkling gallery of heaven; far to the west a gibbous moon shone palely; night enveloped us—in fact it was going on midnight. Clearing my throat I began.
“O woman, strange and mysterious, lamp of my life, it is not for me to rend the veil of thy secrecy, but my soul is eager in its questioning and my heart cries for an answer. Tell me, if thou so will’st, why did’st thou fly from thy nest when thou had’st made tryst with me at the police-station?”
To my delight she caught the elevation of my style at once and replied unhesitatingly.
“Listen, O desert-man, Sheik Adullah-el-Dhub, and let thy heart attend, for oft has my own voice upbraided me that I did thus walk out on thee. Know then that it was not my will but that of the Sheik Wimpole, my over-lord, that hurried me hither-ward.”