So John concludes with a smile, as he sees what the professor has done.
Anxiously, he waits to see what there will be next on the programme.
Some of the guards have left the place, others lie down to sleep.
"The grand climax is coming," he thinks, as he takes note of these things.

"Blunt is getting ready to sweep the board.

Well, good luck to him." Even Mustapha has discovered that something strange is on the _tapis_.
He has a singular way of expressing it.
"Poor Monsieur Constans," he whispers.
"What is the matter with him ?" ejaculates John, in about the same tone.
"It is too bad." "Mustapha, speak out." "He will come after a while." "Yes, yes." "And he will find no Bab Azoun, no band of illustrious robbers to do battle with." John's mind instantly hits upon flight as the cause for all this.
"Why do you speak so ?" "This wonderful soldier, he do it all; by the mighty power of his arm he will overcome the hosts of Bab Azoun.

Great is Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet; but I have never seen such a thing before in all my life." Then the exquisite, dry humor of the thing strikes John, and with such force that he comes very near bursting with laughter.
He has not the slightest desire to do anything that will bring about a change in the plan.

So long as Lady Ruth is rescued from her unpleasant position, it matters little what the means are.
Hence, he watches the development of matters with a keen interest.