As she climbed into the car, she caught a glimpse of the tall French woman. She was talking to a small man with a round face.
“That’s a queer-looking pair,” said Sparky. “Lady of quality and a beggar Arab.”
“He looks like a Jap,” Mary gave the fellow a sharp look. She would know him if she saw him again. “Besides,” she added, “he can’t be quite a beggar. He’s got a camel.”
“You meet all types here,” Sparky replied absently. “It’s the strangest country you ever may hope to see. We’ve sure got to watch our step. By rights we should fly square across the desert. But with our cargo,” his voice dropped, “it’s too risky.”
“So we’ll go northeast?” Mary suggested.
“That’s right.”
“That takes us into fighting country?”
“Yes—sort of—”
The car started, returning them to the airfield.
“There’s a secret airport, on an oasis,” Sparky told Mary. “That’ll be our first stop. After that we hit Egypt and another secret spot. Egypt is safe enough. It’s those miles in between.” His brow wrinkled in a frown. “But we’ll make it.”