We turned over and had another doze.
"Hi! Hassan, if the Mudir has not come we shall go without him. Send Ali to say we must start now."
"Yes, Effendi, he will go."
Turkish acquiescence, especially when very polite, is suspicious. I got out of bed and peeped through the door. Ali was sitting on the bank chatting with a local Zaptieh.
"Hi! Hassan, send Ali at once."
"Yes, yes, Effendi, this minute he goes."
From my point of observation I reported that neither Hassan nor Ali were making any move in the matter, so we decided to dress and become strenuous about it.
I relieved my feelings at intervals by trying to express in my best Turkish to Hassan, through the wall, what I thought of the Mudir who dared to keep great English Pashas waiting beyond the accustomed two hours which one concedes to Eastern ideas of punctuality.
Before we had finished dressing a sudden rocking of the raft and general bustle outside announced our departure. Through the window I took a last look at Tekreet and thanked my lucky stars that departure from it meant also deliverance from the Evil One.
"Do you think the Mudir will be angry with us for leaving him behind?" I said.