THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
at that modified hell on the bleak Arabian shore. The Ajax did not drop her anchor; she simply stopped her engines and drifted slowly. Only three passengers were to disembark, Camden and two British officers who had come aboard at Port Said. The sun was just up. William wore only his pajamas and bath-robe; he had been sleeping on deck.
"Good-by and good luck," he said, as Camden started down the ladder.
"So long, Orestes; take care of yourself," called back Camden as he stepped in among the Arab boatmen.
And the deed was done, the veil rent. The short hair at the base of William's neck stood out like the hair on the back of a dog in the fighting-pit. Orestes! The grin on his lips suffered a temporary petrifaction which lasted until the Arab oarsmen were well under way. The jackal! Camden waved his hand airily. William replied with a menacing fist; but Camden was too far away to appreciate the significance of that gesture.
