At the risk of seeming unconcerned with solving my dear friend Miss Allie Astell’s tribal predicament, I have left the problem in the safe hands of the Foreign Office who themselves are courting the assistance of the fearsome nomadic blue be-robed Tuareg. For the present I can do no more, and simply must attend to the pressing matter in hand, namely the adequate preparation for my forthcoming adventure. Carry on. Fawcett.
I have contacted the British Consulate in Cairo and requested that they send out a search party without delay and for God’s sake rescue the poor girl from an imminent fate that could possibly be worse than death. One can only imagine what would happen to my dear friend and biographer if she fell into the grips of fiendish white slavers. Cads to a man! What? Captain Fawcett.