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 tone.

"It is too bad."

"Mustapha, speak out."

"He will come after a while."

"Yes, yes."

"And he will find no Bab Azoun, no band of illustrious robbers to do