A desert storm perhaps, or some accident.  McLean would poke about—­but for all McLean knew he might be on his way back to camp that very moment.  And sometimes he went by sailing canoe, and a rented horse, and sometimes by the accredited steamer and a camel, and sometimes by tram or train to the nearest station.  Even McLean’s mind and McLean’s Copts wouldn’t make much of all the alternatives that his unsettled habits had afforded.

Was there any possibility of his being traced, of any rescue reaching him?  He thought hard and long upon his last free moments.  Jinny Jeffries knew that he was in the palace, and Jinny had been reiteratedly warned about the danger of betraying that knowledge.  It would take some little time for alarm before Jinny said anything.  And it would take a little time for Jinny to begin to worry.

He had not been so instant in attendance upon Jinny of late, for all their residence in the same hotel, that she would suspect that his absence of twenty-four hours was due to actual incarceration.

His cursed passion for freedom in which to ramble up and down that deserted lane without Tewfick Pasha’s garden!  His inane love of solitary mooning....

No, Jinny would not soon wonder about him.  She had not expected to see him that evening, anyway—­he had muttered something to her about a man and an engagement.

She would rather look to see him the next day and talk about their adventure....  But still she would feel no more than pique at his absence; positive worry would not develop until later.

Besides, all the revelations that Jinny could make would do no good.  Jinny could only report that he had maintained a disguise at a wedding reception, and talked a few moments, apparently undetected, to a bride.  Hamdi Bey, and Hamdi’s eunuchs, would be blandly ignorant of such a scandal.  What his disappearance would indicate would be some further frolic on his part, some tempting of a later Providence before he had abandoned his disguise....  If he were discovered, for instance, in some of those native quarters, behind a woman’s veil....

Decidedly the only effect of Jinny’s revelations would be an unsavory cloud upon his character.

There was no hope to be looked for.

And yet he could not believe it.  There were moments when the black terror mastered him, but involuntarily his young strength shook it off.  He could not believe in its reality.  He could not believe that he was actually here, bricked and bound, in this infernal coffin....

But, indisputably, the evidence was in favor of belief....  Only to believe was to feel again that horror....

He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter.  One had to die some time.  Everybody did.  One might as well go out young and strong and still interested in life.

But that was remarkably cold comfort.  He didn’t want to go out at all.  He didn’t want to die, not for fifty or sixty years yet, and of all the ways of dying, he wanted least to smother and choke and stifle like a rat walled in its hole in the wall.