‘I expect so,’ said Bob Rawlinson. ‘Seems a bit unfair, but there it is.’

‘But why, Bob? Why?’

Bob Rawlinson sighed, wriggled and endeavoured to explain what he felt. He had to struggle with his own inarticulateness.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘He put up a show—I suppose that’s it really. He was—sort of—dramatic, if you know what I mean.’

He looked at his friend who was definitely not dramatic. A nice quiet decent chap, sincere and perplexed, that was what Ali was, and Bob liked him for it. He was neither picturesque nor violent, but whilst in England people who are picturesque and violent cause embarrassment and are not much liked, in the Middle East, Bob was fairly sure, it was different.

‘But democracy—’ began Ali.

‘Oh, democracy—’ Bob waved his pipe. ‘That’s a word that means different things everywhere. One thing’s certain. It never means what the Greeks originally meant by it. I bet you anything you like that if they boot you out of here, some spouting hot air merchant will take over, yelling his own praises, building himself up into God Almighty, and stringing up, or cutting off the heads of anyone who dares to disagree with him in any way. And, mark you, he’ll say it’s a Democratic Government—of the people and for the people. I expect the people will like it too. Exciting for them. Lots of bloodshed.’

‘But we are not savages! We are civilized nowadays.’

‘There are different kinds of civilization…’ said Bob vaguely. ‘Besides—I rather think we’ve all got a bit of savage in us—if we can think up a good excuse for letting it rip.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Ali sombrely.

‘The thing people don’t seem to want anywhere, nowadays,’ said Bob, ‘is anyone who’s got a bit of common sense. I’ve never been a brainy chap—well, you know that well enough, Ali—but I often think that that’s what the world really needs—just a bit of common sense.’ He laid aside his pipe and sat in his chair. ‘But never mind all that. The thing is how we’re going to get you out of here. Is there anybody in the Army you can really trust?’

Slowly, Prince Ali Yusuf shook his head.

‘A fortnight ago, I should have said “Yes.” But now, I do not know…cannot be sure—’

Bob nodded. ‘That’s the hell of it. As for this palace of yours, it gives me the creeps.’

Ali acquiesced without emotion.

‘Yes, there are spies everywhere in palaces…They hear everything—they—know everything.’

‘Even down in the hangars—’ Bob broke off. ‘Old Achmed’s all right. He’s got a kind of sixth sense. Found one of the mechanics trying to tamper with the plane—one of the men we’d have sworn was absolutely trustworthy. Look here, Ali, if we’re going to have a shot at getting you away, it will have to be soon.’

‘I know—I know. I think—I am quite certain now—that if I stay I shall be killed.’

He spoke without emotion, or any kind of panic: with a mild detached interest.