The sheik glanced around nervously.
“You say he will be here soon?”
“At any moment. Something has gone wrong with Winston Bey’s dahabeah, it seems, and the soldiers are to put things right.”
Antar fell into the trap. In common with most natives, he greatly feared the mounted police, and had no inclination to face a company of them. Quickly he ran to the end of the hill overlooking the river, and blew a shrill blast between his fingers as a signal to his comrades.
Instantly his men swarmed from the distant boat and sped over the sands toward him. The sheik met them and the whole band turned toward the north, quickly disappearing among the rugged crags of the mountains.
Tadros, convulsed with laughter at his easy victory, watched until the last Arab was out of sight. Then he walked down to the dahabeah, where, in the gathering twilight, he cut the bonds of the prisoners, assuring Winston Bey and his party, with many bombastic words, that he had vanquished their enemies and they owed their lives to his shrewdness and valor.
“You are free as the air,” said he. “Fear nothing hereafter, for I will now remain with you.”
“Where is Kāra?” asked Winston.
Tadros did not know; but he suspected that Consinor, before returning from the interior of the treasure-chamber, had murdered the Egyptian, whose mysterious disappearance could in no other way be explained. Not wishing to mention the viscount’s name, whose murder might involve both Nephthys and himself in trouble, he stuck to his original lie.
“Kāra is fleeing in one direction and the Arabs in another,” he said, pompously. “I am too modest to relate how I have accomplished this remarkable feat; but you must admit I have been wonderfully clever and successful, and by remaining faithful to your interests, have saved you from a terrible fate.”