“Rubbish!” she exclaimed.  Paying no heed to the wistful look in his eyes or to the appealing shuffle of his foot, she sent back a dignified little reply to the effect that “A previous engagement would prevent, etc.”  The polite lie made it necessary for them to venture forth at dinner time to eat their solitary meal of sardines and wafers in the grove below.  The menu was limited to almost nothing because Deppy refused to fill his pockets with “tinned things and biscuit.”

The next day they moved into the west wing, and that evening they had the Brownes to dine with them in the banquet hall.  Deppingham awoke in the middle of the night with violent cramps in his stomach.  He suffered in silence for a long time, but, the pain growing steadily worse, his stoicism gave way to alarm.  A sudden thought broke in upon him, and with a shout that was almost a shriek he called for Antoine.  The valet found him groaning and in a cold perspiration.

“Don’t say a word to Lady Deppingham,” he grunted, sitting up in bed and gazing wildly at the ceiling, “but I’ve been poisoned.  The demmed servants—­ouch!—­don’t you know!  Might have known.  Silly ass!  See what I mean?  Get something for me—­quick!”

For two hours Antoine applied hot water bags and soothing syrups, and his master, far from dying as he continually prophesied, dropped off into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning Deppingham, fully convinced that the native servants had tried to poison him, inquired of his wife if she had felt the alarming symptoms.  She confessed to a violent headache, but laid it to the champagne.  Later on, the rather haggard victim approached Browne with subtle inquiries.  Browne also had a headache, but said he wasn’t surprised.  Fifteen minutes later, Deppingham, taking the bit in his quivering mouth, unconditionally discharged the entire force of native servants.  He was still in a cold perspiration when he sent Saunders to tell his wife what he had done and what a narrow escape all of them had had from the treacherous Moslems.

Of course, there was a great upheaval.  Lady Agnes came tearing down to the servants’ hall, followed directly by the Brownes and Mr. Britt.  The natives were ready to depart, considerably nonplussed, but not a little relieved.

“Stop!” she cried.  “Deppy, what are you doing?  Discharging them after we’ve had such a time getting them?  Are you crazy?”

“They’re a pack of snakes—­I mean sneaks.  They’re assassins.  They tried to poison every one of us last—­”

“Nonsense!  You ate too much.  Besides, what’s the odds between being poisoned and being starved to death?  Where is Mr. Britt?” She gave a sharp cry of relief as Britt came dashing down the corridor.  “We must engage them all over again,” she lamented, after explaining the situation.  “Stand in the door, Deppy, and don’t let them out until Mr. Britt has talked with them,” she called to the disgraced nobleman.