In the background crowded the half dozen Arab guards, sensing something amiss.
“A cry for help,” Mr. Hampton heard Frank say. “The Professor was sending out an appeal to us.” Frank looked wildly around at the group. “Great Scott, can’t we do something?” he appealed.
“Calm down, Frank,” said Mr. Hampton. “Tell us about it, and then we can decide what to do.”
Frank nodded as he got a grip on his emotions.
“Well, maybe, I was a little inarticulate,” he said, with a rueful smile. “But, just think. Here I was, bumping along on my camel, and half asleep. I had the headpiece on, the phones to my ears. But I hadn’t any real idea I’d hear anything. What’s there to hear, way out here, away from all the world? The only chance was that Professor Souchard would take a notion to broadcast something for our benefit.
“Then it happened.”
He paused and looked at the others, before swallowing and resuming, with his face still pale.
“Suddenly I heard the Professor’s voice, just as if he were right out there on the desert.”
Frank pointed off into the sunset, and involuntarily, so strong was the impression created by his words, the others stared, too. All, however, in a moment restored their gaze to Frank’s face—that is, all except Ali. He continued to stare through the sun wrinkles about his sharp, dark eyes. He even raised a strong brown hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The others, however, paid him no attention. They had eyes only for Frank.
“Yes, sir,” re-iterated Frank, “it sounded as if the Professor were right out there on the desert. His voice was agonized, he was stammering as if in a frenzy of terror.