He peered about with white-rimmed eyes, striving to discover where now the Myzab and the sacred Black Stone might be.

The dim bulk of the blanket under the berth came to his senses.

He knelt, touched the blanket, felt the hard solidity within.
Torn with anguish of a great conflict, he pondered, smearing the sweat of agony from his hard-wrinkled forehead.

Better was it to fling these holy things from the cabin window, out into the night?
Better the certainty that the desert sands, far below, would inevitably drift over them, forever burying them from the sight of his people; or better the chance that the Master, after all, really intended to deliver them back into Moslem hands at Bara Jannati Shahr?
"Allah, oh, guide thy servant now!" the orderly prayed with trembling lips.

"Allah, show thou me the way!" The Master, stirring in his sleep, sighed deeply and let his right hand fall outside the berth.