Hugging himself with delight, the black boy shot away instantly. Helena heard his joyous laughter as it rippled like a river along the garden path, and then she sat down at the desk to write to the Consul-General. *CHAPTER XIII* Gordon, in the meantime, living on the heights of his new resolve, had been waiting impatiently for the opportunity of departure. No prisoner looking forward to the hour of his escape ever suffered more from the slow passage of time. He lost all appetite for food, sleep deserted him, and as the week went on he was in an ever-increasing fever of excitement. On the Tuesday he received through Michael a letter from Hafiz saying— "We must be careful. I’ll tell you why. I was right about the trackers. That beast Macdonald, having sworn that he would find you if you were above ground, and being sure that you were still in Cairo and that the people were concealing you, employed the services of a couple of serpents from the Soudan. These human reptiles, with green eyes like the eyes of boa-constrictors, had no difficulty in tracing your footsteps to a side street in the neighbourhood of El Azhar, but there your footsteps failed them as absolutely as if you had sunk into the earth. "Perplexed and baffled, they were on the point of giving up the search when in the soft mud of the disgusting thoroughfare they found the marks of horses’ hoofs and of the hoops of wheels, and from these they concluded that you had been carried off in a conveyance of some sort. But track of the carriage was lost the moment they reached the paved way which passes through the Mousky, and now they are again bewildered. "In this extremity, however, they have thought of another device for your discovery which is—what do you think? To watch _me_! Under the impression that I know where you are, they are dogging my footsteps every moment I am off duty. No matter! I’ll beat the beasts! As a bloodhound is nothing but a nose, so a tracker is nothing but an eye, and he has hardly as much brain as would stuff a mushroom. Therefore wait! Trust yourself to Hafiz! Why not? You cannot depend on a better man." Next day, Wednesday, the doctor, with his bright face and cheery voice, came again to dress the wounded finger. "Wonderful!" he cried. "Almost healed already! That’s what youth and decent living do for a man." "I have no money at present, Doctor," said Gordon, "but I expect to receive some very soon, and before I go your fee will be paid." "Of course it will—when I ask for it. But ’go’? Not yet, I think." The streets were like a sackful of eyes, and every eye seemed to be looking for Gordon—either to attack or to protect him. "But wait! Things don’t seem to be going too smoothly for the Government."