At sunset the Arab crew turned their faces towards Mecca and prostrated themselves on the deck. In their acts of devotion they were joined by the lascars.
"Black heathens!" snorted Mrs. Shallop contemptuously, laughing loudly.
It was the act of an uneducated fool. People of that type, both male and female, have done so before to-day, often with serious results to themselves and others.
"For Heaven's sake shut up!" hissed Preston apprehensively. "You may get a knife across your throat for this."
Peter too felt far from comfortable when the Arabs regained their feet. There could not have been the slightest doubt that they had heard the mocking laugh, and had there been trouble the lascars would have held aloof, or even have sided with their co-religionists. But, grave and inscrutable, the crew of the dhow carried on as if the unseemly interruption was beneath their notice.
"I think I'll keep watch to-night after this," said Peter.
"P'raps 'twould be as well," agreed Preston. "That woman is a perfect curse—I'm not much use, but I'll take a trick. If there's any sign of mischief I can give you a shout. Got your automatic handy?"
"Rather."
"Pity you hadn't shown it, off-handed like," continued the Acting Chief. "A little moral persuasion of that description goes a long way with these gentry. I remember once getting into a jolly tight corner at Port Said. It was my own fault to a great extent, but I was only an irresponsible 'prentice in those days. I shifted a dozen low-down Arabs with the stem of a pipe. They thought it was a six-shooter. It's as likely as not that our friend the skipper has spotted that bulge in your hip pocket."
"And taken it for a purse with a thousand rupees in it," added Peter. "Yes, I think I'll have to keep my weather eye lifting."