“Your obedient Effendi,
Mohammed.”
Graham laughed grimly, glancing at his watch.
“Only half an hour late,” he said, standing up, “Wait here, Eileen; I shall not be many minutes.”
“But I should like to see him, too. He might accept the price from me where you would fail to induce him to take it.”
“Never fear,” said her husband; “he wouldn’t have come if he meant to refuse. What shall I offer him?”
“Whatever you think,” said Eileen, smiling; “be generous with the poor old man.”
Graham nodded and signed to the boy that he was ready to start.
The night swallowed them up; and Eileen sat waiting, whilst the band played softly and voices chatted incessantly around her.
Some five minutes elapsed; ten; fifteen. It grew to half an hour, and she became uneasy. She stood up and began to pace up and down the verandah. Then the slinking figure of the Egyptian youth reappeared.