The arrival of Simonds, with the spare window-pane, and of Brodeur--one of the boldest flyers out of Saloniki in the last months of the war--broke in upon the Master's reveries. Only a few minutes were required to mend the window. During this time, the Master explained some unusual features of control to the Frenchman, then let him take charge of _Nissr_. "She's wonderful," said he, as Brodeur settled himself at the wheel. "With her almost unlimited power, her impeccable controls and her automatic stabilizers, I hardly see what could happen to her." "Fire, of course, _m'sieur_," the ace replied, "always has to be guarded against." "Hardly on an all-metal liner. Now, here you see--and here--" He finished his explanations, and, satisfied that all was safe, passed into his own cabin. Rrisa, he found, had already unpacked his kit, and had arranged it to perfection. Even a copper bowl of khat, the "flower of paradise," was awaiting him. The Master sat down, chewed a few leaves and indulged in a little time of what the Arabs call _kayf_, or complete relaxation and inner contemplation--a restful trick he had learned many years ago on the coast of Yemen. The ticking of the aluminum-cased chronometer, now marking a little past 2 a.m., soothed him, as did the droning hum of the propellers, the piping whistle of the ship-made hurricane round the fuselage, the cradling swing and rock of the air-liner hurling herself almost due east. After some quarter-hour of absolute rest, he rang for his Arab orderly. Rrisa appeared at once. Already he had got himself into his military uniform, the one he had worn at Gallipoli when the Master had saved his life. As he stood there in the doorway, he swung his left foot out and back, with clicking heels, and made a smart salute. "What does _M'almé_ desire?" asked he, in Arabic. "I desire to know thy opinion of all this, Rrisa. Tell me, did thy great prophet, M'hámed, ever ride in such state through the air? Was Al Burak, his magic horse, on which he traveled to the paradise of the houris, more swift or mighty than this steed of mine?" The Master speaking Arabic, weighted every word with its full meaning. "Tell me, Rrisa, what of all this?" "Your steed is very swift and very mighty. Your flying ship is very great," the Arab admitted. "But Allah and his Prophet are greater! _Allahu akbar!_" (Allah is greatest!) "Of course. But tell thou me, Rrisa, if I were to appear at Mecca in my _Nissr Arrib ela Sema_--my Eagle of the Sky--would not thy people give me great honors?" "My head is at your feet, _M'almé_, and I am yours to do with as you will, even to the death, but I implore you, by the beard of the Prophet, do not do this thing!" "And why not, Rrisa?" "You and I, Master, are _akhawat_.[1] Therefore I can speak true words. You must not go to Mecca. No man of the _Nasara_ may go there--and live."