“Tell him,” said Cyril, smiling grimly, “that he may lead us round and round as much as he likes, but he will have to take us to Sitt Zeynab at last, unless he wishes to wander about with us for ever.”
“He says he guesses there’ll be some shooting first, Count.”
“I quite agree with him. Mansfield, cock your revolver, as loudly as you can. Tell him that I shall have his horse and those of his men shot if I hear much more of this.”
“You have him there, Count; but he says he can get fresh horses and come back and lay you out.”
“Hardly,” was the suave reply. “I shall keep him and his men as guides all the same; but they will have to walk.”
“Don’t mind him, Count; he’s just relieving his feelings a bit, I guess. It seems to hurt him real badly, the way he’s walked into this trap of yours.”
The sheikh was groaning vigorously, and alternately muttering and shouting imprecations in Arabic. At last he became somewhat calmer.
“What does the Prince of the Jews want?” he demanded of Mr Hicks.
“To get to Sitt Zeynab, and you may bet your boots he’ll do it.”
“What does he desire there?”