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Show PRINCESS MARYS GIFT BOOK BIMBASHI JOYCE the view. the employment, the. food!evei'ything was the same. At the end of three weeks he felt that he had been there for intcriiiinable years. And then at last there came something to break the monotony. One evening. as the sun was sinking. Hilary Joyce rode slowly capacity to the head of the Intelligence, and even more to that grim down the old caravan road. head with cold water, drank a cup of strong coffee, put on an iii'iposing otlicial tarboosh instead of his sun-helmet, and formed himself into a It had a fascination for him. this narrow track, winding among the boulders and curving up the nullahs. for he remembered how in the map it had gone on and on. stretching away into the unknown heart of Africa. The countless pads of innumerable camels through many centuries had beaten it smooth. so that now, 27 chief who never forgot what was smart, or forgave what was stack. The prisoner's dress and bearing showed that he was of importance. Mean men do not ride pure-bred trotting camels. Joyce spoiiged his court of inquiry and judgment under the acacia tree. He would have liked his people to have seen him now, with his two black orderlies in waiting. and his Egyptian native officer at his side. He sat behind a unused and deserted. it still wound away, the strangest of roads, a foot camp-table, and the prisoner, strongly guarded, was led up to him. broad. and perhaps two thousand miles in length. Joyce wondered as he rode how long it was since any traveller had journeyed up it from the south. and then he raised his eyes. and there was a man coming along the path. For an instant Joyce thought that it might be one ot‘ihis own men, but a second glance assured him that this could not be so. The stranger was dressed in the flowing robes of an Arab. and not in the close~titting khaki of a soldier. He was very tall, and a high turban made him seem gigantic. He strode swiftly along, with head erect, and the bearing of a man who knows no fear. K \Vlio could he be, this formidable giant coming out of the unknown? The precursor possibly of a horde of savage speai'iiicn. And whcre could he have walked from? The nearest well was a long man was a handsome fellow, with bold grey eyes and a long black beard. " \Vhy l " cried Joyce, " the rascal is making faces at me." A hundred miles down the track. At any rate the frontier post of Kurkur could not afford to receive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce whisked round his horse. galloped into camp, and gave the alarm. Then, with twenty horsemen at hisback, he rode out again to reconnoitre. The man was still coming on in spite of these hostile preparations. For an instant he hesitated when first he saw the cavalry, but escape was out of the question, and he advanced with the air of a man who makes the best of a ‘bad Job. He made no resistance, and said nothing when the hands of two troopers clutched at his shoulders. but walked quietly between their horses intoeamp. Shortly afterwards the patrol came in again. there were no Signs of any dervishes. The man was alone. A splendid trotting camel had been found lying dead a little way down the track. The mystery of. the strangers arrival was explained. But why, and whence, and whither ?-these were questions for which a zealous otlicer must tiiid an answer. wonlillIlliiiliilgjtfccif y'az‘ecllitsaptpotintedlt-hatvthcre were no dcrvishcs. It TOHU‘llt A little «ictiimg .1 .: dIV oi inn 111 the Egyptian army had he 4 ‘b. on. us own account. d iaic chance of ltl'lpl‘CSStllg the authorities. But even as it was, he had He would love to show his The curious contraction had passed over the man's features, but so swiftly that it might have been a nervous twitch. Oriental gravity. He was now a model of " Ask him who he is, and what he wants?" The native otliccr did so, but the stranger made no reply. save that the same sharp spasm passed once more over his face. " \Vell. I'm blessed!" cried Hilary Joyce. "Of all the impudent seoundrclsl He keeps on winking at me. \Vho are you, you rascal? Give an account of your- self! D'ye hear ? " But the tall Arab was as impervious to English as to Arabic. The Egyptian tried again and again. The prisoner looked at Joyce with his inscrutable eyes, and occasionally twitched his face at him, but never opened his mouth. bewilderment. The Bimbashi scratched his head in " Look here, Mahomet Ali, we've got to get some sense out of this fellow. You say there are no papers on him ? " " No, sir ; we found no papers." " No clue of any kind ? " " He has come far, sir. A trotting camel does not die easily. He has come from Dongola, at least." " \Vcll, we must get him to talk." " It is possible that he is deaf and dumb." " Not he. I never saw a man took more all there in my life." " You might send him across to Assouan." . " And give some one else the credit .2 No, thank you. This is my bird. But how are we going to get him to find his tongue .3 " The ltlgyptiaii's dark eyes skirted the encampment and rested on the (-00sz tire. " Perhaps," said he, "' if the Biiiibashi thought hteefil He looked at the prisoner and then at the burning wood. " No, no; it wouldn't do. No, by Jove, that's going too far.n WWW MOM)? |