I felt that they were up to some mischief." He glanced around a little helplessly.

Quest took a cigar from his case, and lit it.
"To think that an old campaigner like I am," the Professor continued, in a tone of abasement, "should be placed in a position like this! There have been times when for weeks together I have slept literally with my finger upon the trigger of my rifle, when I have laid warning traps in case the natives tried to desert in the night.

I have even had our pack ponies hobbled.

I have learnt the secret of no end of devices.

And here, with a shifty lot of Arabs picked up in the slums of Port Said, and Hassan, the dragoman, dying in that mysterious fashion, I permit myself to lie down and go to sleep! I do not even secure my rifle! Quest, I shall never forgive myself." "No good worrying," Quest sighed.