going here and there ceaselessly.

One man swarmed up the long and bending mast. Another clambered over the
balcony-rail into the stern.

What did all this movement mean?

The master of the _Loulia_ must surely be expected--the man Isaacson had
seen driving the Russian horses, and, clothed almost in rags, squatting
in the darkness of the hashish cafe in the entrails of Cairo.

And Bella Donna was hurrying back after only one night in Cairo!

Isaacson forgot the marvellous beauty of the declining day. In a few
minutes he returned to the house. But immediately after dinner, leaving
Nigel sitting on the terrace, he went again to the bank of the Nile.

The _Loulia_ was illuminated from prow to stern. Light gleamed from
every cabin window, and the crew had not only the daraboukkeh but the
pipes on board, and were making the fantasia. Some of them, too, were
dancing. Against a strong light on the lower deck, Isaacson saw black
figures, sometimes relieved for a moment, moving with a wild
grotesqueness, like crazy shadows.

He stood for several minutes listening, watching. He thought of a train
travelling towards Luxor. Then he went quickly across the garden, and
came to the terrace and Nigel.

The deep voice within him must be obeyed. He could resist it no longer.

"They're lively on the _Loulia_ to-night," Nigel said, as he came up.

"Yes," Isaacson answered.

He stood while he lighted a cigar. Then he sat down near to his friend.
The light from the drawing-room streamed out upon them from the open
French window. The shrill sound of the pipes, the dull throbbing of the
daraboukkeh, came to them from across the water.

"The whole vessel is lighted up," he added.

"Is she? Perhaps Baroudi has come up the river."

"Looks like it," said Isaacson.

He crossed, then uncrossed his legs. Never before had he felt himself to
be a coward. He knew what he must do. He knew he would do it before
Nigel and he went into the room behind them. Yet he could not force
himself to begin. He thought, "When I've smoked out this cigar."

"You've never seen Baroudi," Nigel said. "He's one of the handsomest
fellows I've ever clapped eyes on. As strong as a bull, I should think;
enormously rich. A very good chap, too, I should say. But I don't fancy
my wife liked him. He's hardly a woman's man."

"Why d'you think that?"

"I don't know. His manner, perhaps. And he doesn't seem to bother about
them. But we only saw him about twice,