A long discussion followed, and at last a solution of the difficulty occurred to the mamur. He said he could not arrest Qway, but he would send a policeman to bring back the rifle and cartridges. Did that satisfy me? It didn’t. I said I must have Qway as well. After a long discussion he at last agreed to send to fetch him, if I would send a message by the policeman to tell Qway that he was not to shoot him!
The next day the mamur came round to see me, looking immensely relieved. He said that the policeman had gone to Rashida to fetch Qway, but found that he had left the village, so now there was nothing more to be done. He evidently felt that he was now clear of all responsibility in the matter.
I had thus lost track of Qway, and began to despair of ever being able to get hold of him. But the next day Abd er Rahman, who all along had been indefatigable in trying to pick up information of his whereabouts, told me that Qway had been seen near Tenida dressed up as a fellah[4]—a fact that caused the little Sudani the keenest amusement.
So I sent Abdulla to go off on his hagin to Tenida, under pretence of buying barley, and to try and find Qway, and, if he succeeded, to tell him from me to come at once to Mut.
The next day I went down to the merkaz to enquire whether there was any news. I saw the police officer, who told me that he had just had certain news that Qway had left the oasis and taken the road to the Nile Valley. So, as he was now out of his jurisdiction—which seemed to greatly relieve him—he was in a position to draw up the proces verbal about the telescope and gun that he had stolen, a piece of information that was distinctly depressing. I began to wonder what was the best thing to do next.
This problem, however, solved itself. I had just finished lunch when a timid knock came at the door, and in walked Qway!
The old brute had evidently had a terrible time of it. He had allowed himself to become the tool of the Senussi, but his plans having miscarried, he had got lost and nearly died of thirst in the desert, for, as I afterwards discovered, he had been nearly two days without any water—and two very hot days they had been—and it had only been the excellence of his camel that had pulled him through.
He looked ten years older. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, his cheeks sunken, his lips parched and cracked, his beard untrimmed, and he had an unkempt, almost dirty, appearance.
He laid the rifle and telescope on my bed, fumbled in his voluminous clothing and produced a handful of cartridges, took some more out of his pocket, from which he also produced a rosary—the Senussi mostly carry their beads in this way and not round their neck as in the case of most Moslems. He then unknotted a corner of his handkerchief and took out two or three more cartridges and laid them all on the table.
“Count them, Your Excellency,” he said. “They are all there.” I found that the tale of them was complete.