"Rrisa," said he, impressively, his voice slow, grave, sonorous, "only for me thy bones would today be moldering in the trenches at Gallipoli or maybe rotting in a Turkish grave. The life that is in thee belongs to me! That is thy ancient law. Is it not true?" "It is true, Master. _Nahnu malihin._" (We have eaten salt together.) "And the salt is still in thy stomach?[1]" [Footnote 1: Some Arab tribes hold that the salt binds protection for only twenty-four hours and at the end of that time must be renewed, otherwise it is "not in their stomachs."] "Aye, Master. You are still _dakhil_ (protected) to me." "Thou art mine to do with as I will?" "I am the Master's!" "Treason to me, Rrisa, is treason to thy holy laws. Surely, such treason would plunge thy soul far into the depths of Eblis. When thy time cometh to walk across the burning pit, on the bridge as fine and sharp as the edge of a simitar, if it be laden with treachery to one who hath saved thy life and whose salt thou hast eaten, surely it shall not pass over, but shall fall. Far into the deeps of Jehannum it shall fall, where the Prophet says: 'Stones and men shall be the fuel of the everlasting flame!'" "I am the Master's," repeated Rrisa, with trembling mouth. He raised his hand to forehead, lips, and heart. "My head is at the Master's feet!" "Forget that not, thou!" cried the Master, dominantly. "_Ru'c'h halla!_" (Go!) CHAPTER XI CAPTAIN ALDEN STANDS REVEALED Hardly had the trembling Arab salaamed and departed in terror of soul, knowing not what fearful events might be impending, when Bohannan appeared. The smile on the Master's lips, the sternly calculating expression in his eyes, faded into something as near astonishment as this strange man ever felt, when the major exclaimed: "Well, faith now, what d'you think? The most improbable thing you can imagine!" "What may that be, Major?" "It's not what it may be, it's what it _is_ that's astonishing me. We've got a stowaway aboard us!" "Stowaway? Impossible!" "True, nevertheless. Manderson has just now routed him out of the starboard storage-room, near the reserve petrol-tank." "Hm! Who is he?" Bohannan shrugged stout shoulders. "Don't know yet. He's still dopy. Just coming out of the effects of the lethalizing gas." "Ah, yes, yes, I see. One of the former crew, I suppose. This is quite inexcusable. That a man should have been overlooked and left aboard--it won't do, Major. Kloof was responsible for that room. Kloof will have to suffer. Any other news?" "Travers, the New Zealander, is wounded." "Badly?" "I'm afraid he's hard hit, sir." "Well, I'll have a look at him and at this stowaway. Where are they, now?" "In the lazaret, I suppose you call it. Though what a hospital is, aboard an air-liner, blest if I know!" "Sick-bay, we'll call it. Problems rising already. A stowaway--rather odd, I must say. Still, as a problem, it's not hard to solve. Nothing simpler than dropping a man overboard."