"Aiwah, Effendi, the honourable Sitt has left you. She has gone—there is no trace of her camp."
"What?" Michael jumped out of bed. "The Sitt has gone? No sign of her camp?"
"Aiwah, Effendi, that is so. Your servant offers his apologies for bringing you bad news."
To Abdul's eternal amazement, Michael burst into a roar of laughter, hearty, unsuppressed enjoyment of a good joke.
"Gone?" he repeated. "The Sitt has gone, made a moonlight flitting?
The little devil!"
Abdul's mystification was so complete that he could only salaam.
"The little coward!" Michael said. "The miserable little coward!"
He spoke so rapidly, and in English, that Abdul could not fully understand. Indeed, he was totally at a loss to comprehend anything of the situation. It baffled him. His master actually seemed pleased and highly amused at the cowardly conduct of his mistress!
"When did the Sitt leave the camp, Abdul?"
"At about two o'clock this morning, Effendi. She has taken everything with her," he threw up his hands. "Her medicines, her delicate food, everything we need for the saint."