We took an Arab pilot on board--the first Arab ever seen by the ladies
of my party--and before the red torch of sunset had burned down to
dusky purple, tenders like big, black turtles were swimming out to the
_Laconia_. We slaves of the Rose, however, had surrendered all personal
interest in these objects. The word of Miss Gilder had gone forth, and,
unless Rechid Bey changed his mind at the last minute, we were all to
lurk in ambush until he appeared with his wife. Then, somehow, Monny
was to snatch her chance for a word with the Ship's Mystery; and
whatever happened, none of us were to stir until it had been snatched.

Arguments, even from Biddy, were of no avail, and mine were silenced by
cold permission to go away by myself if I chose. It was terrible, it
was wicked to talk of people making their own beds and then lying in
them. It was nonsense to say that, even if the wife of Rechid Bey asked
for help, we could do nothing. Of course, we would do something! If the
girl wanted to be saved, she should be saved, if Monny had to act
alone. Whatever happened, Mr. Sheridan and Mr. Bailey must remain in
the background, as the very sight of them would drive "Wretched Bey"
_wild!_

I was thinking of Anthony's surprise when one after the other, two
tenders should reach the quay without me; and if the Gilded Rose had
not been so sweet, her youthful cocksureness would have made me yearn
to slap her. In spite of all, however, the girl's excitement became
contagious as passengers crowded down the gangway and Rechid Bey did
not appear.

"Allah--Allah!" cried the boatman and the Arab porters as they hauled
huge trunks off the ship onto a float. Then one after the other the two