"Let him come in!" he ordered, in Rrisa's vernacular.
"_A, M'alme_" submitted the desert man, standing aside and bowing as
the stranger entered. The Master added, in English:
"If he comes as a friend and helper, uninvited though he be, we
welcome him. If as an enemy, traitor, or spy, we can deal justice to
him in short order. Sir, advance!"
The stranger came to the foot of the table. Men made way for him. He
stood there a moment in silence, dropped his gauntlets on the table
and seemed peering at the Master. Then all at once he drew himself up,
sharply, and saluted.
The Master returned the salute. A moment's silence followed. No man
was looking elsewhere than at this interloper.
Not much could be seen of him, so swaddled was he in sheepskin jacket,
aviator's helmet, and goggles. Leather trousers and leggings completed
his costume. The collar of the jacket, turned up, met the helmet. Of
his face, only the chin and lower part of the cheeks remained visible.
The silence tautened, stretched to the breaking-point. All at once the
master of _Niss'rosh_ demanded, incisively:
"Your name, sir?"
"Captain Alfred Alden, of the R.A.F."
"Royal Air Force man, eh? Are you prepared to prove that?"
"I am.
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