He turned slowly around.  If Craig had indeed paid for his crimes by so horrible a death, there was all the more reason why they should make their escape in the general confusion, and make it quickly.  He retraced his steps.  The sound of shouting voices grew less and less distinct.  When he reached the meeting place, he found the Professor standing at the corner with the rest.  His face showed signs of the most lively curiosity.

“From the commotion,” he announced, “I believe that, after all, a lion has visited the camp.  The cries which we have heard were distinctly the cries of a native.”

Quest shook his head.

“A lion’s been here all right,” he said, “and he has finished our little job for us.  That was Craig.  I saw him come out of Craig’s tent.”

The Professor was dubious.

“My friend,” he said, “you are mistaken.  There is nothing more characteristic and distinct than the Mongar cry of fear.  They seldom use it except in the face of death.  That was the cry of a native Mongar.  As for Craig, well, you see that tree that looks like a dwarfed aloe?”

Quest nodded.

“What about it?”

“Craig was lying there ten minutes ago.  He sprang up when he heard the yells from the encampment, but I believe he is there now.”

“Got the horses all right?” Quest enquired.

“Everything is waiting,” the Professor replied.

“I’ll have one more try, then,” Quest declared.

He made his way slowly through the undergrowth to the spot which the
Professor had indicated.  Close to the trunk of a tree Craig was standing. 
Feerda was on her knees before him.  She was speaking to him in broken
English.

“Dear master, you shall listen to your slave.  These people are your enemies.  It would be all over in a few minutes.  You have but to say the word.  My father is eager for it.  No one would ever know.”

Craig patted her head.  His tone was filled with the deepest despondency.

“It is impossible, Feerda,” he said.  “You do not understand.  I cannot tell you everything.  Sometimes I almost think that the best thing I could do would be to return with them to the countries you know nothing of.”

“That’s what you are going to do, any way,” Quest declared, suddenly making his appearance.  “Hands up!”

He covered Craig with his revolver, but his arm was scarcely extended before Feerda sprang at him like a little wild-cat.  He gripped her with his left arm and held her away with difficulty.

“Craig,” he continued, “you’re coming with us.  You know the way to Port Said and we want you—­you know why.  Untie that sash from your waist.  Quickly!”

Craig obeyed.  He had the stupefied air of a man who has lost for the time his volition.

“Tie it to the tree,” Quest ordered.  “Leave room enough.”

Craig did as he was told.  Then he turned and held the loose ends up.  Quest lowered his revolver for a moment as he pushed Feerda toward it.  Craig, with a wonderful spring, reached his side and kicked the revolver away.  Before Quest could even stoop to recover it, he saw the glitter of the other’s knife pressed against his chest.