Then he picked up his spears and his shield.
Abou Fatma watched him labour up the slope of loose sand and disappear again on the further incline of the crest.

Then in his turn he rose, and hastily.

When Harry Feversham had set out from Obak six days before to traverse the fifty-eight miles of barren desert to the Nile, this grey donkey had carried his water-skins and food.
Abou Fatma drove the donkey down amongst the trees, and fastening it to a stem examined its shoulders.

In the left shoulder a tiny incision had been made and the skin neatly stitched up again with fine thread.

He cut the stitches, and pressing open the two edges of the wound, forced out a tiny package little bigger than a postage stamp.