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Updated: May 8, 2025
Crothers, the larger of the two and by six brawny inches more phlegmatic, bode his time in silence, so that neither of them spoke a word while they were hustled and cuffed along the street between the unbaked brick hovels. It was not until the reinforced iron door of Adra's one stone building slammed on them that either of them said a word. Then "I'm not a mean man," protested Crothers.
Therefore they must not escape. In five seconds the affair had changed from a spectacular amusement, with Adra's population in the role of super-heated audience, to a hunt of Crothers and Joe Byng. Within ten seconds each of the sailors lay with his face pressed hard into the sand and at least a dozen Arabs sitting on him.
It was almost too much to have to come back empty-handed. It was quite too much to have to run for shelter under the lee of Adra's uninviting coral reef. And to be told by an acting engineer that he would have to stay a week was utterly beyond the scope of polite conversation. "Why a week?" asked Commander Applewaite, with eyebrows raised to the nth power of incredulity. "Why a week?" asked Mr.
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