Abdul agreed at once. In the event of a party coming from Ain Afroo to capture him he could retreat to the caves, which were so difficult of access that he might hope to defy attack for a time, even if his hiding-place were discovered. The chief difficulty would be food and water; but he could slip down into the woods before daybreak and gather a quantity of fruit; perhaps also snare one or two wild animals; and if Tom would leave behind the now almost empty canister in which he kept the fuel for the engines, he could fill that with water from the hill springs.
Schwab’s countenance, as he heard these arrangements discussed, was that of a man very ill at ease. But he had apparently come to the conclusion that further protest would be unavailing, and he held his peace, summing up in his mind, possibly, the amount of his future claim for damages. Tom handed Abdul his revolver, for use in the last resort; then followed Oliphant and the envoy into the car.
“You keep your vord!” cried Schwab, as the airship rose into the now overclouded sky.
Tom set the engines at half speed, partly to husband his fuel, partly because, moon and stars being now obscured, he felt the same kind of reluctance to go fast that a driver would feel in going through a dark country lane. It was a little before three in the morning. He hoped to reach the yacht about dawn, though, having in the darkness no means of guiding his course, he foresaw the possibility of going out of the way. But a strong wind had blown up from the east, and with this at his back he knew that he must in due time reach the sea. Rain began to fall, at first in large scattered drops, finally in a steady downpour, and when the grey dawn at last broke through the sky, all three occupants of the car were thoroughly drenched and miserable.
Tom had anxiously watched his fuel supply. When the rain ceased and the sky became clearer, and he caught sight of the sea afar off, he saw that there was not the smallest chance of reaching the shore.
“How far is it, do you think?” asked Oliphant.
“More than ten miles, I fancy. I’ve scraped up the last ounces of paste; we shall be lucky if it carries us another five miles.”
“And what then?”
“Goodness knows! I don’t know what part of the shore we are heading for. We may be miles north or south of the yacht for all I can tell.”
“Will they see us on board?”