Lost trumpet

254 THE lost trumpet
But not of Huebsch. His immense voice boomed
out across the excavations in instructions for replen¬
ishing the fires with all the spare camp-props that
could be gathered. It was obvious that he would
sacrifice tents and tender if that should prove neces¬
sary, and Marrot’s acid suggestion that the great
Jew might add himself as a supreme auto-da-fe
produced nothing more than a kindly, considering
stare and a maelstrom-ripple of smile. Then we
started again, tiredly, and at length the whole of the
block-house and its outbuildings had been cleared
away. It had been a very small block-house.
Below was the basic sand. Huebsch and Marrot
cleared the labourers off the ground of the pit and
then with level and tape marked out the lines of a
great St. Andrew’s cross. Along those lines Kalaun
and his companions were set to the digging of two
fresh intersecting trenches. I had had enough for the
time being, and sat to smoke a pipe and watch the
hasty stridings to and fro of the great Jew and his
tall, slim secretary. Pelagueya had elected herself to
this post and followed Huebsch everywhere, import¬
antly, notebook in hand, her clear voice, with a note
of excitement in it, raised in an occasional suggestion
towards which the ovoid head of her companion
would be readily inclined. Huebsch had found a
fellow-enthusiast.
Once, as Pelagueya passed and I looked after her
amusedly, I remembered my companions of the
journey from Cairo and called a question.
“They’ve gone,” Pelagueya called back.