“It doesn’t seem to be me, Dads,” she had once explained, or tried to explain, to her father, who, in the depths of an armchair and the Sporting News, had no more idea of what she was talking about than the man in the moon.  “I seem to be standing outside myself looking at myself.  A sort of something seems to come right down, shutting the danger right away from me.  I know I’m in it and have to get out of it, but though I pulled Arabia for all I knew, and swam for all I was worth to reach Rock Point, and bluffed that poor devil out of taking Mumsie’s bracelet, I kind of did it mechanically, not with any intention of putting things right, for I knew I was not going to die that time, because I’m sure that I shall know when I’ve got to die . . . understand, Dads?”

To which Dads had replied: 

“Quite so, my dear, quite so!  Personally I don’t see how it could be otherwise.  I agree with every word you say!” patting his red setter’s head, which in the firelight he fondly believed to be his daughter’s.

CHAPTER XII

And so it was now as she sat under the African moon, whilst little rings and puffs of smoke helped to irritate the insects ensconced in the leaves of the creeper.  She seemed to be standing on the other side of a wall, watching the outcome of the tossing of a silver coin.

“I’ve had a perfectly awful day,” she announced with a ripple of genuine amusement in her voice as she proceeded quite unconcernedly to recount the doings of the last few hours.

“So naturally I was followed from the restaurant,” she went on after a moment’s pause, “and my bag was so heavy, and I was absolutely lost, and only just managed to give the man the slip by hiding behind a half-open door, painted bright blue of all colours.”

“Allah!” murmured Hahmed.  “An English girl hiding in a house with a blue door!”

“But,” she went on, having for some unknown reason omitted the dance episode from her narrative, “that wasn’t the worst part”—­and continued, quite unconcernedly, to give a detailed account of the night’s happenings.  Whilst she was speaking the Arab moved nearer until he stood over her, there was neither shadow nor frown upon the fine face, or movement of lip or hand, but the air seemed to throb with the intensity of the white-hot rage within him.

“By Allah!” he said quite gently, as he took the emerald ring Jill held out.  “I do not need this, for behold for many years I have known of the doings of this thing of whom you speak.  And yet so great has been his cunning, that until to-night I have never been able to lay hands upon him in his guilt.  But to-morrow will dawn a brighter day for Egypt, in that she will be rid of one of her greatest evils.  And were you not afraid?”

Jill smiled up into the eyes fixed with love, plus worship, plus reverence, upon her.  “I?  Oh! no!  Why should I be when I am supposed to be one of the finest shots in Europe?  Are you going to kill him?”