The man asked no more questions, but made the best of his way to his own
room.

"Come down and out into the grounds, my lad," said the professor. "The
doctor's sitting in the garden having his cigar."

"I was just going to bed."

"Yes, but come with me for an hour first. I've an old friend waiting to
see me, and I thought I'd bring you down."

"I don't want to meet his old friends," thought Frank impatiently. Then
aloud, as he followed: "Of course you will say nothing about the object
of our visit here?"

"Trust me," said the professor quietly.

"Is your friend staying here?"

"Yes; he comes here regularly at this time of year, expecting to meet
old visitors to Egypt."

"I see," said Frank drily. Then to himself, "I wish he was at Jericho.
I can't talk about anything now but the desert."

As they descended into the prettily lit-up hall and went out into the
garden among the palm trees, the scene was attractive enough to fix any
newcomer's eyes; but Frank could see nothing but a long wide stretch of
desert country, at the horizon of which were a few palms overshadowing
dingy, sun-baked mud buildings, houses formed of the brick made of straw
now as in the days when the taskmaster-beaten Israelitish bondmen put up
such pitiful plaint.

"Where is the doctor?" said Frank.

"Over yonder on that seat," replied the professor, as they were going
down a sandy path towards a group of palms. "Ah, there's my friend."

Frank looked in the indicated direction, but he saw no English visitor.
There was a stately looking turbaned figure, draped in white, standing
in the dim shadowy light among the palms, and he seemed to catch sight
of them at the same moment, and came softly forward, to stop short and
make a low obeisance to each in turn.

"Well, Ibrahim, how are you?" said the professor sharply.

"His Excellency's servant is well and happy now, for his soul rejoices
to find that the dogs told lies. They said his Excellency would not
come to El Caire until the war was over, and the Mahdi's successor--may
his fathers' graves be defiled--had gone back to the other dogs of the
far desert."

"Oh, yes, I've come again. Frank, this is Sheikh Ibrahim, of the Dhur
Tribe. And look here, Ibrahim, this is my friend and brother, Mr Frank
Frere."

"And my master," said the Arab, with another grave and dignified
reverence, speaking too, in spite of the flowery Eastern ornamentation,
in excellent English. "His Excellen