"No, you don't," continued Webb, giving the prisoner a sturdy shove. "We mean business, my bearded friend. Thank goodness I have a pistol in my hand and you haven't. I wouldn't trust you with a halfpenny."
Thus urged, the Arab resumed his pace, until they came to the spot where the camel was hobbled.
"I suppose the Greek hasn't any weapons concealed about him?" enquired Webb.
"Trust me for that," was the Lieutenant's reply. "I passed my hands over his carcass right enough. Now then, Ben Hazi Notion, or whatever your tally happens to be, bear a hand and hoist this rascal up."
The Arab spoke a few words to the camel. The animal immediately crouched on the ground.
"I say, this condemned nigger understands English," declared Osborne. "He knew exactly what I said. Now, how far is it to Alexandria?" he asked, addressing the Bedouin.
But the latter's face wore a mask of imperturbability. When the question was repeated, he rolled his eyes and raised his hands with a gesture of utter incomprehensibility.
"He must have guessed what I meant," commented Osborne as he signed to the Arab to make the camel regain its feet.
Progress was tediously slow. The camel would not be hurried, while the two Englishmen found that the sand was growing more and more fatiguing to their feet as mile after mile was covered in the still hot sunshine.
The Arab trudged stolidly, holding the gaily coloured head-rope of the ship of the desert. At intervals the Greek would give furtive glances around the horizon, as if he expected help to be forthcoming from some quarter of the trackless desert.