he not do in order to
win favor at the hands of the young English beauty?

Again it flashes through John's mind; did not the driver in speaking of
the facts tell Mustapha that in his opinion it was a man who had entered
into a conspiracy with Bab Azoun?

John's first thought was of Pauline Potter--that she had hoped to get
hold of him; but now he changes his mind, and locates the trouble
elsewhere, fixing it upon the veteran.

Under these circumstances it may be interesting to see how the Briton
intends working his plan. John's only desire is a sincere wish that Lady
Ruth may be rescued from her predicament. He has no wish to put her to
any unnecessary trouble in order that he may play the hero. As well Sir
Lionel as any one else, so long as she is benefited.

With this spirit, he can watch the development of affairs composedly,
though the suspicion that has crept into his mind causes him a little
worry.

Sir Lionel is evidently getting ready to make a move for liberty. His
very actions betray it in more ways than one. John cannot but think that
he goes about it with something like a flourish of trumpets that is
hardly in keeping with the situation, for it is supposed that a dozen
pairs of eyes are upon them.

First of all, he secures a weapon that is hanging upon the wall near-by.
It must be his own revolver, John believes. How lucky that the Arabs
hung it so close to his hand. No one appears to notice the action.
Really, Sir Lionel is attended by the goddess of luck.

Then the professor makes a move in the same direction, crawls forward,
and lays hands on a gun that rests against the wall. This he smuggles
back with him, and again the guards are all interested in other
business, laughing, and joking.

So far, good. Perhaps they can, if this marvelous good fortune follows
them, steal all the arms in the camp, and even capture the brigade. 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 t