46 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



parcels of mejidies stuck out like Mount Everest. I 

 don't know what I said. I imagined at the time it was 

 quite unforgivable, but Hassanein is the most good- 

 tempered person in the world. He submitted to being 

 pushed and pulled into the white garments he had to 

 wear over his European riding-kit — ^voluminous white 

 pantaloons, long flowing shirt and woollen jerd. I 

 beheve I banged a white kufiya on his head and flung 

 an agal at him before rushing from the room to take 

 up my position behind the main door with a tiny dark 

 lantern which revealed the piles of corpulent sacks. 

 '\^^en, a few minutes later, a stately white figure with 

 flowing lines unbroken save by the crossed revolver belts, 

 true son of a sheikh of the famous Azhar University, 

 joined me, I could hardly recognise in this solemn Arab 

 the wild individual who was playing at hay-making a 

 few minutes before. 



Of course our fellow-plotters were late! We waited 

 nearly an hour crouched on the sacks, while the only 

 thing that broke the silence of a desert night was the 

 braying of a donkey near the suq. At about 1.45 we 

 heard the faint roar of protesting camels and our pulses 

 quickened. Some ten minutes later stealthy footsteps 

 approached. There was a light scratch on the door, and 

 the operation of the previous night was successfully 

 repeated, only this time we had another quarter of an 

 hour's suspense after the porters went forth with the 

 first sacks before they could return for the last. Our 

 confidant leant against the door, motionless and calm, 

 looking at the starlit sky. "Bahi!" he murmured, as 

 the mysterious figures reappeared, the only word he had 

 uttered the whole time. Shouldering knapsack, water- 

 bottle, thermos flask and kodak, I stumbled out of the 

 dark passage into the moonless night. A strong, cold 

 wind met me and I wondered, shivering, why a Beduin 



