Then there was Hans.  He of course would attempt to retrace our road across the desert, if he had got clear away.  Having a good camel, a rifle and some ammunition, it was just possible that he might win through, as he never forgot a path which he had once travelled, though probably in a week’s time a few bones upon the desert would be all that remained of him.  Well, as he had suggested, perhaps we should soon be talking the event over in some far sphere with my father—­and others.  Poor old Hans!

I opened my eyes and looked about me.  The first thing I noticed was that my double-barrelled pistol, which I had placed at full cock beside me before I went to sleep, was gone, also my large clasp-knife.  This discovery did not tend to raise my spirits, since I was now quite weaponless.  Then I observed Marut seated on the floor of the hut staring straight in front of him, and noted that at length even he had ceased to smile, but that his lips were moving as though he were engaged in prayer or meditation.

“Marut,” I said, “someone has been in this place while we were asleep and stolen my pistol and knife.”

“Yes, Lord,” he answered, “and my knife also.  I saw them come in the middle of the night, two men who walked softly as cats, and searched everything.”

“Then why did you not wake me?”

“What would have been the use, Lord?  If we had caught hold of the men, they would have called out and we should have been murdered at once.  It was best to let them take the things, which after all are of no good to us here.”

“The pistol might have been of some good,” I replied significantly.

“Yes,” he said, nodding, “but at the worst death is easy to find.”

“Do you think, Marut, that we could manage to let Harut and the others know our plight?  That smoke which I breathed in England, for instance, seemed to show me far-off things—­if we could get any of it.”

“The smoke was nothing, Lord, but some harmless burning powder which clouded your mind for a minute, and enabled you to see the thoughts that were in our minds. We drew the pictures at which you looked.  Also here there is none.”

“Oh!” I said, “the old trick of suggestion; just what I imagined.  Then there’s an end of that, and as the others will think that we are dead and we cannot communicate with them, we have no hope except in ourselves.”

“Or the Child,” suggested Marut gently.

“Look here!” I said with irritation.  “After you have just told me that your smoke vision was a mere conjurer’s trick, how do you expect me to believe in your blessed Child?  Who is the Child?  What is the Child, and—­this is more important—­what can it do?  As your throat is going to be cut shortly you may as well tell me the truth.”