Dicky’s back was to the light, the Orderly’s face in the full glow of it. Dicky was standing beside the wire communicating with the engineer’s cabin. He reached out his hand and pulled the hook. The bell rang below. The two above stood silent, motionless, the pistol still levelled.
Holgate, the young Yorkshire engineer, pulled himself up to the deck two steps of the ladder at a time. “Yes, sir,” he said, coming forward quickly, but stopping short when he saw the levelled pistol. “Drop the knife, Ibrahim,” said Dicky in a low voice. The Orderly dropped the knife.
“Get it, Holgate,” said Dicky; and Holgate stooped and picked it up. Then he told Holgate the story in a few words. The engineer’s fingers tightened on the knife.
“Put it where it will be useful, Holgate,” said Dicky. Holgate dropped it inside his belt.
“Full steam, and turn her nose to Cairo. No time to lose!” He had told Holgate earlier in the evening to keep up steam.
He could see a crowd slowly gathering under the palm-trees between the shore and Beni Hassan. They were waiting for Mahommed Ibrahim’s signal.
Holgate was below, the sailors were at the cables. “Let go ropes!” Dicky called.
A minute later the engine was quietly churning away below; two minutes later the ropes were drawn in; half a minute later still the nose of the Amenhotep moved in the water. She backed from the Nile mud, lunged free.
“An old man had three sons; one was a thief, another a rogue, and the worst of the three was a soldier—and he dies first! What have you got to say before you say your prayers?” said Dicky to the Orderly.
“Mafish!” answered Mahommed Ibrahim, moveless. “Mafish—nothing!” And he said “nothing” in good English.