With this spirit, he can watch the development of affairs composedly, though the suspicion that has crept into his mind causes him a little worry.
Sir Lionel is evidently getting ready to make a move for liberty. His very actions betray it in more ways than one. John cannot but think that he goes about it with something like a flourish of trumpets that is hardly in keeping with the situation, for it is supposed that a dozen pairs of eyes are upon them.
First of all, he secures a weapon that is hanging upon the wall near-by. It must be his own revolver, John believes. How lucky that the Arabs hung it so close to his hand. No one appears to notice the action. Really, Sir Lionel is attended by the goddess of luck.
Then the professor makes a move in the same direction, crawls forward, and lays hands on a gun that rests against the wall. This he smuggles back with him, and again the guards are all interested in other business, laughing, and joking.
So far, good. Perhaps they can, if this marvelous good fortune follows them, steal all the arms in the camp, and even capture the brigade. So John concludes with a smile, as he sees what the professor has done.
Anxiously, he waits to see what there will be next on the programme. Some of the guards have left the place, others lie down to sleep.
"The grand climax is coming," he thinks, as he takes note of these things. "Blunt is getting ready to sweep the board. Well, good luck to him."
Even Mustapha has discovered that something strange is on the tapis.
He has a singular way of expressing it.
"Poor Monsieur Constans," he whispers.