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When everybody was rested and had had enough strawberry tarts, view and flirtation, we were to make for the Temple of Mut: and, having returned at last to the Enchantress Isis, were to steam away just as tourist boats and dahabeahs were lighting up along the shore. We were to dine late, after starting, and anchor in some dark solitude, so as to enjoy a peaceful, dogless night on the Nile.
In any case, when we went to look for the suspicious craft seen near Kasr Ibrim, she was not among the two or three small private dahabeahs of artists and others, moored within a mile of the Great Temple.
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