And now came the crisis. At a signal from Oko Sam the guards about the hut flung open the entrance, and in a moment two emaciated, half starved figures were led forth, whom it was actually difficult to recognize as the pompous Sir Arthur Ashby and brave Colonel Carrington.
They still wore their uniforms, but the cloth hung in folds about their shrunken limbs, and their faces were pitifully thin and distressed.
Guy’s heart beat fast with indignation as he gazed on this melancholy sight, and then he purposely half turned his face away, lest the prisoners should recognize him and unconsciously cause the failure of the whole plan.
The people drew back as the little group reached the camels. The two Englishmen were lifted up behind the supposed Portuguese—Sir Arthur with Canaris, the colonel beside Chutney—and so weak and helpless were they that it was necessary to partially strap them in their places.
All was now ready. Guy and Canaris were prepared to start, the prisoners were in their possession, and the armed escort were exchanging farewells with their comrades.
At this supreme moment, when the fullest success seemed assured, a startling diversion occurred.
A big Arab, a new arrival evidently, pushed his way forward, and as his glance fell on the Greek he started with surprise, and exclaimed aloud, “Canaris!”
With wonderful self possession the Greek looked at him in mute ignorance; but the Arab, who had probably but just come from Harar, pressed forward, and, joining Oko Sam a few paces away, began to talk excitedly in a low voice.
“We are lost. Chutney,” whispered Canaris in tones of despair.
At the mention of this name. Guy felt the colonel’s arms clasp his waist in a convulsive thrill.