“I recollect,” I said at length, determined if possible to learn something of the man who had robbed me,—“I recollect that on the night before we turned our faces from Tuggurt, whilst leaving the mosque, thou wert in close conversation with a man. Who was he?”
“A stranger,” he replied abruptly, glancing quickly at me with suspicion.
“Not a stranger to me,” I said meaningly. “I recognised his face.”
“Thou knowest him?” he exclaimed, surprised. “Then thou art forewarned to take precaution for thine own safety.”
“Why?” I asked in alarm. “Surely thou hast not hidden from me thy knowledge of some impending evil?”
“Thou art a Roumi, while I am a servant of the Prophet,” he answered. “Infidels are our enemies, and it is forbidden that we should warn our foe of our plans for attack.”
“Is there danger, then? Doth this man bear me malice for nought?”
“Know, O Roumi,” he said solemnly, “thou art indeed in grave peril. I should not tell thee, only the man who addressed me in the courtyard of the House of Allah made an infamous proposition to me, and afterwards I discovered that he was called Labakan, of the tribe of the Ennitra, and one of the most renowned cut-throats of Hadj Absalam, the Terror of the Desert.”
“The Ennitra?” I cried. “And he is following me?”
The Arab slowly nodded, rolling his cigarette thoughtfully. “What villainous proposal did he make to thee?” I demanded quickly.