He could see nothing of the enemy through the dense canopy of smoke, but, from his elevated position, he could see the line of the city defences quite plainly. The garrison troops on all sides seemed to be gaining ground, only at this one point did it seem that nothing was being done. Suddenly he saw the locomotive dash out from the town and run swiftly down the line towards him, and, at the same time, the cheery "heave-ho" of the tars broke on his ear as they hauled the cable up the hill.

The next minute the pilot rope was passed through the block and the men ran off with it towards the railway, while George remained to guide the hawser into its place when it came up.

The whole operation did not last more than a few minutes; he saw the men reach the railway, pass the rope through the pulley there, and then secure it to the waiting engine.

The officer now came up and joined Helmar.

"You have done well, my lad," he cried. "Do you think the stanchion will hold the weight of the heavy guns?"

"I hope so, sir," answered Helmar, eyeing the crowbar narrowly.

"Very well, I'll give the order to heave in the slack. We'll see."



He then gave the signal, and the engine began to steam slowly back to the town. The guide rope hauled taut, and then began to pass rapidly through the blocks. The hawser began to ascend. Up it came, lumbering along like a great snake until the block was reached. The officer signalled, and the engine came to a standstill. George passed the great steel rope safely through the pulley, and the work went on until the hawser had passed the second block on the railway. The engine then came back, and as soon as the great cable was secured to it, it started again for the town. The work had started in real earnest.

All this time the enemy's fire was kept up incessantly, the locomotive being an object for their gunners to try their skill. But for the Arabs' atrocious practice, the naval guns would never have been got into position; as it was, whilst Helmar and the officer stood looking on, the gun began slowly to ascend.

With a lynx eye, George watched the straining crowbar, fearful that it should draw and his work prove unavailing. It held, and, assisted by the men below, the heavy burden was steadily hauled up.

At last the gun reached the top, and Helmar breathed a sigh of relief as he saw it wheeled off to its position. After this, the other guns were fetched up in a similar manner, and in less than half-an-hour the whole battery opened fire on the enemy. The naval brigade's practice quickly silenced the enemy's guns, and long before sundown Arabi and his hordes were in full retreat.

As soon as his share in the work was over, George quietly slipped away and retired, thinking no more about it, content to leave the issue of the day in other more capable hands, while he took his well-earned rest. It did not occur to him that he had done anything wonderful, and therefore great was his surprise when, towards sundown, he was again rudely awakened by a loud voice telling him to get up.

"Be sharp, too; the Colonel wants you."

Somewhat flustered by this peremptory order, George hurried out and followed the orderly until he reached a house on the outskirts. Here the man paused.

"You're not very smart-looking," he said, eyeing Helmar's non-military appearance with a glance of contempt.

"I can't help that," said George. "You said, 'come at once,' so I came. It's no use finding fault with my appearance now, you should have thought of that before."

"All right, I don't want any cheek, only when you go before the Colonel you are supposed to look smart. Just remember, young fellar, it's an honour to speak to the chief."

"Oh, is it?" said George, tired of the man's patronage. "Well, if you'll lead the way, I shall be obliged, for it is no honour to speak to you."

Muttering something derogatory to Helmar's nationality, the man led the way into the house.

In a few minutes Helmar stood in front of the Colonel in charge. In the room several other officers were standing round, amongst whom he recognized the Captain whom he had assisted with the guns. The latter smiled on him as he entered.

"I am told," said the Colonel, looking up at Helmar, "that it was due to your gallant conduct to-day, my man, that the guns were got into position so rapidly. It seems that, under a very heavy fire, you went to the top of the hill on which they were to be posted, and fixed up the hauling gear. These reports are very satisfactory to me. You are engaged as an interpreter at present. I shall endeavour to find you a position the better to show your capabilities. I compliment you heartily on what you have done."

When Helmar got outside he could scarcely refrain from shouting for joy. The very first engagement he had been in, it seemed, he had distinguished himself and received the Colonel's congratulations. It seemed too good to be true. And yet the Colonel had said it himself. "Bah!" he muttered, "I did no more than the others did—yes, but very likely they got praised too."

He anxiously hurried back, wondering what the morrow would bring forth. Evidently luck was coming his way.



CHAPTER XIV

THE REGIMENTAL COOK

The sun had long risen when George awoke from his heavy, dreamless slumber. Tired nature had at last demanded and received her share of the healing balm of sleep. The day had been exciting, and eventful; and though the nervous strain had been great, it was long before his busy brain allowed him to get to sleep. When it did, however, it was hours before his body was sufficiently refreshed to begin the new day.

The sun was pouring down with scorching intensity when he sprang from his blankets; the heat of the atmosphere was like that of an oven, and he flung back the fastenings of the doorway and plunged his head into a bucket of water that stood ready to hand. Thoroughly refreshed and cooled with his dip, he set out in search of breakfast, his thoughts running wild over the events of the preceding day, as he made his way down the lines towards the cook-house.

As he hurried along he was astonished at the number of men who paused in their work to take notice of him. As a matter of fact, he was scarcely known to any one, except the officers with whom he came into contact in his work, and yet he was greeted like an old friend by nearly every one he came across. It was some time before he began to realize that, in some way, the events of yesterday had brought this about.

Reaching the cook-house, he plunged into the subject of breakfast. Had the cook anything to eat?

"Anything to eat?" replied that worthy. "Well, rather. Always got something for you, Mr. Helmar!" his greasy face smiling with a look of pride at the man who had so distinguished himself on the hill yesterday.

"I'm beastly hungry, and am afraid I'm a bit late," said George apologetically. "But I was so tired that I overslept myself."

"Late? Not a bit of it—leastways, not for you. Here y'are, I been a-savin' this for you," and the benevolent-looking "slushy" dived into an oven and produced a piece of steak and some onions on a tin plate.

George accepted this mark of extreme favour with the greatest pleasure. The steak smelt savoury, although, by the looks of it, he thought it would have done credit to a shoemaker's shop; but he fell to with such a healthy appetite that the cook was still further pleased.

"'Ere, 'av a drop o' my kauffee," he said, holding out a pannikin of the steaming liquid; "there's a goodish 'stick' in it," he added, with a knowing wink.

George accepted it without demur. He did not care for brandy, but he felt that he was under an obligation to the man and would not hurt his feelings by refusing what the soldiers considered a priceless treasure.

While George was discussing his solid breakfast the cook looked on, chattering away about the doings of yesterday, avoiding with soldier-like tact Helmar's share in the proceedings; but just as the meal was over and he was about to depart, he said—

"S'pose you won't be 'avin' many more meals along o' us?"

"What do you mean?" asked George, in surprise.

The man smiled and looked knowing.

"Orficers' mess grub better'n we do, yer know," he replied, winking with the whole side of his face.

"Yes, I dare say they do, but that's got nothing to do with it," said George.

"Ho, 'asn't it! They tells me as you are a-goin' to be made a horsifer."

Our hero laughed, and the man looked offended.

"No, no, that's wrong. You know, I'm not English, they can't do that—besides, there's no reason for it."

"Well, now, I never thought o' that," replied the cook, somewhat crestfallen. "But they're a-goin' to do somethin' for yer; everybody's a-talkin' about 'ow you got them guns up the 'ill, and I sez, right yer are, I sez, 'e's a chap as deserves to git hon."

George was quite confused at the man's praise, and, to avoid more of it, said good-bye and left the kitchen. What he had heard had opened his eyes. Now he knew the meaning of his morning's greetings from the strangers he had passed. Apparently he was looked upon as a sort of hero—well, he hoped they would find him something to do to prove their belief in him.

Cutting across the parade ground towards the office, where his duties as interpreter required him, he was met by an orderly sergeant.

"Mornin', Mr. Helmar. I was just coming to look for you. You're wanted at the office. I think," he went on, impressively, "there's a little trip on hand and you are to go on it."

"Good! Do you know what it is, and where to?"

"Can't say, I'm sure. They keep these things very quiet. The Adjutant's inside," he went on, "you'd better go in."

Helmar stepped in. A group of officers, standing round a desk, turned as he entered.

"Ah," said one who was sitting at the table with a chart spread in front of him, "I want you to hold yourself in readiness to accompany Captain Forsyth, this evening, on a patrol towards Kafr Dowar. You will act as interpreter. The commanding officer has selected you, as the work to be done will entail considerable risk, and we require a reliable man. Further instructions will be given you by Captain Forsyth. The patrol starts at sundown. You can go now and get ready."

"Very good, sir," replied George, and turned to leave. One of the officers followed, and, as they got outside, joined him.

"Your orders are not very explicit, Helmar," said he, "and probably convey but little to you. Of course, I dare say you know that after yesterday's engagement Arabi has retreated to Kafr Dowar. It is believed he has some thousands gathered under his banner, but we want to be sure. We are going out to gather all information possible, in which work you will be of great assistance to me."

"You, then, are Captain Forsyth?" asked George, at once.

"Yes, I asked that you might accompany me, for I do not care to trust to the native interpreters, and, besides," with a smile, "I am glad to have a man who not only can fight, but is also a man of resource."

"I don't know the country, sir," answered Helmar doubtfully, "and, under the circumstances, that seems to me to be a vital point. Arabi's men are pretty smart, and no doubt there will be many traps to avoid."

"I have taken all that into consideration. As far as the country is concerned, I will answer for that, and the traps—well, we must be as shrewd as the enemy."

"I am only too glad of the chance," said Helmar, afraid lest, in offering objections, the officer should think he did not want to go, "and if it comes to a tight corner, I will give the best account of myself possible."

"That's all right, then," said Captain Forsyth. "And now you had better go and get ready. I am going to let you use one of my own horses instead of a trooper; a blanket on the saddle is all that you can carry, except, of course, a day or two's rations in your wallet in case of accidents. You can get your arms from the quartermaster."

The officer returned to the room, and Helmar hurried off to secure all that he needed.

There was but little difficulty; evidently orders had been given beforehand, for his equipments were laid out and waiting for him. In an hour's time he had collected together everything he required, and the rest of the day was his own.

His spirits were at the highest possible pitch, and the thoughts of the luck which was following him made him feel ready to undertake the most daring enterprises. He blessed the engineer officer who had given him the opportunity with the guns the day before. The drudgery of ganging natives in the trenches seemed as if it had now gone for ever, and he was about to embark on responsible work, or, at least, work that would give him scope to prove his mettle. The more he thought of it, the more castles he built of rising to a big position, until, at last, realizing the absurdity of his dreams, he brought himself back to the practical side of his duty.

Late in the afternoon, about an hour before sundown, he again visited his friend the cook. He found that worthy looking as benevolently greasy as ever, and ready to offer him all the resources of his larder.

"I thought I'd come and get my tea now, cook, I've got to go out on patrol at sundown. I'm afraid I'm a beastly nuisance."

"Nuisance? No, o' course not. I ain't one o' them blokes as grumble cause a feller's 'ungry. Wot d'yer say to a bit o' cold meat and some tea to start with?"

"Splendid. I haven't had any dinner, I had breakfast so late, so we'll make up for it now."

"An' where are yer goin', if it's a fair question?" asked his companion.

"Well, I don't know that I ought to say. Still, I wasn't told to keep it quiet, so I suppose it doesn't matter. It seems old Arabi has retired to Kafr Dowar and is going to make a stand there. We're going to gather information. I don't suppose there'll be much excitement."

"Um," replied the cook, placing a pile of toast and dripping in front of his visitor. "I wouldn't mind bettin' a day's pay you git all the fun yer want afore yer git back."

"Why, what makes you think that?" asked George, amused at the man's tone of conviction.

"Yer don't know them horsifers like I do; I ain't been in service all these years for nothin'. I tell yer, if there wasn't no danger they'd a sent one o' them blessed blacks to interprit instead o' you. They knows you've got the grit, so they sends you, and it's odds yer don't come back with a 'ole skin."

George knew the man's words were not meant unkindly, although they were something of a raven's croaking; however, with undamped ardour, he attacked the pile of greasy toast and waited for his host to continue.

"I ain't got no opinion o' them all-fired Gypies!" he went on, as Helmar did not reply. "They're that treacherous as never, and if they gits 'old o' yer it means murder. Now, my advice is, an' I've 'ad twenty year experience as a soldier ov 'er Majesty Queen Victoria—the greatest soverin o' the day—askin' yer pardon, as yer a Doycher—wot I says is, bayonit 'em, an' when yer done it see as they ain't alive arter. If yer don't, yer a goner."

The good-natured cook had worked himself up to such a pitch of excitement as he laid the law down to our hero, that the latter was seriously afraid of apoplexy, and when the old fellow had finished, it was with difficulty he refrained from bursting out into a roar of laughter. However, keeping a straight face, he took a long pull at the pannikin of tea, and prepared to leave.

"I've no doubt you are right, cook, and I shan't forget your advice. Well, good-bye, see you again some day."

"Good-bye, Mr. Helmar," replied the cook, again beaming with good-nature and fat. "Good luck to you; don't forgit there's allers a drop o' good kauffee 'ere," and he turned to his work with a chuckle.

Helmar hurried back to his quarters, and calling the chief nigger of his gang up, sent him to Captain Forsyth's quarters for the horse. While he was gone George busied himself with looking to his saddle. Presently, the fellow returned with a fine upstanding, raw-boned, dark brown horse. The animal looked all fire and mettle, and as George cast his eye over it, he registered a mental vow to thank the officer for his generosity.

"You go to Kafr Dowar?" asked the nigger, as he held the horse for George to saddle him.

"What's it to do with you where I'm going?" he asked sharply. "Mind your own business."

"Be not angry with thy servant," said the man with a furtive glance, which he quickly averted as he caught Helmar's eye. "I but thought. Arabi is there."

"How do you know?" asked George quickly.

"I hear," was the evasive reply. Then, seeing the dissatisfied look on Helmar's face, he tried to ingratiate himself. "The horse is good, he will travel fast," he went on, with a glance of admiration at the animal.

For a moment Helmar was thrown off his guard.

"Yes, and it will take Arabi all his time to catch him, if we should come across him."

"Then you go to Kafr Dowar," said the man, with a grin.

George, seeing his mistake, was about to reply, when he saw the patrol getting ready, so, without further parley, he mounted his horse and rode towards them.



CHAPTER XV

ON PATROL

It was with very mixed feelings that Helmar rode over to the patrol. Of late he had come to regard all Egyptians with suspicion, and, in fact, the entire native population. As regards the so-called "loyal" blackies, he looked upon them as mercenaries, giving their loyalty for gain to the stronger side; being more enlightened than others, they realized that Arabi's rebellion could not possibly survive any serious opposition, and that in the end England was bound to crush it—hence their loyalty! Of course, it was well known that their ranks were crowded with spies—this was only natural—and he felt certain, though unable to prove it, that the man who had just spoken to him was one of these.

As he rode up and joined the little party of horsemen, he was in two minds about speaking to Captain Forsyth of the man's suspicious behaviour; but, in the rush of moving off, he had no opportunity, and with the bustle and interest of his new work, the incident entirely slipped from his mind. It was not till later on that every word of that conversation was brought vividly back to him.

"All right, Captain Forsyth," said the Adjutant, after inspecting the patrol; "you can move off. Good-bye, and good luck to you!"

The order to march was given, and the little party of twelve people slowly filed from the lines.

The beautiful cool of the evening after the sweltering heat of the day was refreshing to all, man and beast alike; the men laughed and chatted, the horses snorted, threw their heads up and proudly showed their mettle as the slow "walk march" was quickly changed into a canter.

The camp was gradually left behind in the distance, and long ere night set in, Alexandria, with its domes and spires, was lost in the haze of the evening, and the bare, level, open country surrounded them on all sides.

Their road lay in the direction of Kafr Dowar, distant about twenty miles to the south-east. For some time after leaving the city the railway was followed, until they arrived at the neck of land that separates the lakes Mariut and Abukir, then, leaving the road entirely, Captain Forsyth edged away from the railway and skirted along the south-west bank of Lake Abukir.

Not very far out of the city, the officer dropped back to the rear where George was riding.

"I'm going to divide the party, Helmar," he said, "and I want you to ride with me. We will travel on the west side of the railway, and shall probably meet stray Arabs in that direction, from whom we can obtain information. It will be imperative to keep a sharp look-out."

"Yes," replied Helmar, "so far we do not know if Arabi has left Kafr Dowar or not. Anyway, if he has, I expect he still has a large force there."

A flanking party was then sent out to the east. The main body, consisting of six men, were to continue the road direct for Kafr Dowar, while Captain Forsyth himself, a trooper named Brian, and George took the western flank.

Helmar and his companions soon reached and crossed the railway, and, pressing on, the main body was quickly lost to view, and the work of scouring the country began in earnest.

Helmar was very quick to learn his duties. A sort of instinct kept all his nerves and senses strained, detecting anything that might furnish information, and, although night had closed in, he found he was able to distinguish many things that he would not have thought possible in such darkness.

Their course lay across country, and the officer kept on the right track by the aid of the brilliant light of the stars. He pointed out the manner in which it was done to Helmar, who marvelled at the simplicity of it all, and wondered how it was he had never thought to try it before.

For some miles the journey was quite uneventful, and Captain Forsyth began to think that the Arabs had really retired beyond Kafr Dowar, even perhaps to Damanhour.

"There doesn't seem to be a sign of the enemy anywhere," said he. "We must be within six miles of their reputed camp now, and we haven't even seen a light. It seems very strange."

"Personally," replied George, "I think it's suspicious. These Gypsies are very foxy; there are some about, or I'm much mistaken. You don't catch a man like Arabi retiring all his troops without leaving a strong rear-guard somewhere behind. What about that rise over there?" he went on, pointing to the dim outline of a hill in the distance. "I thought I saw the flash of a light there just now, but it might have been only fancy."

Captain Forsyth pulled his horse up for a moment and looked keenly in the direction indicated; but, as nothing appeared, the journey was resumed. A little further on, he suddenly exclaimed under his breath and whispered, "Wait a minute!" while he sprang from his horse.

George felt a breath of excitement as he watched the officer's movements. The trooper Brian had come up alongside him.

"Faith, seems to me there's some one on the move ahead of us. Can't you hear the sound of horses' hoofs, sir?"

Helmar listened. At first he could hear nothing but the sighing of the evening breeze as it rustled over the open plains; but gradually he became aware of other sounds blending with it. He listened intently, and the sounds became more distinct, but still so dim that they seemed very far off.

"Yes, I think you are right, Brian, but they are a long way off. They seem to me more to the left and in the direction of the patrol."

"That's so," replied the Irishman, "and, sure, it's to be hoped the sergeant is aware of 'em."

Just then the officer re-mounted his horse.

"Well, sir, do you think it's anything coming our way?"

"No," he replied, "not our way, but it's a party of horsemen, and they seem to be going straight for our main patrol. Brian, you and Helmar remain here; don't advance. I am going to join the sergeant's party. If you hear the sound of fire-arms from that direction, you two will join us at once; and if not, in twenty minutes from now strike a light and I shall rejoin you. Don't make any mistake. Helmar, I shall leave you in charge."

While the officer was speaking, George gave all his attention to the sounds approaching, and his restless eyes scanned the darkness all round. What he had thought to be coming from the east now sounded to be from the west.

"Very good, sir," he replied, as Forsyth finished speaking. "But it strikes me you are either wrong about the direction of the sounds, or there are others coming towards us from the west."

The officer listened, but he remained convinced that what he had heard came from the direction he had said.

"No, I am right," he said, at last. "There is no sound to the west. Don't forget your instructions," and he turned his horse and disappeared in the darkness, the clatter of his horse's feet soon becoming deadened by the heavy sand.

"You're right, Mr. Helmar, and he's wrong, though it wasn't for me to say so," said Brian, in tones of firm conviction. "As the officer disappeared, did you notice how quickly the sound of his horse's hoofs died away?"

"Yes," replied Helmar. "But what has that to do with it?"

"Simple enough," replied the other; "he's forgotten about the wind. There isn't too much, it's true, but what there is is coming from the west, and consequently the sound travels with it. Now, you listen. You can't hear a sound of him now."

It was as the Irishman said. Strain as they would, there was not a sound to be heard from his retreating horse.

"You're right," said George, at last, "and the other sound is still to be heard, which means——"

"Which means that some one is approaching us from the west, and the sound is travelling with the wind. Before he gets back we'll have trouble on our hands, or I'm—I'm—a Dutchman," he finished up in his broad Irish brogue.

Although Helmar was determined and courageous, he was a novice at the art of war, and was ready to adopt any plan that appealed to his common-sense when danger threatened, so he consulted his companion.

"Assuming that we are right, what plan do you suggest?" he asked, eyeing the Irishman keenly.

"Well, it's hard to say what's best. Sure, I'm right on for a fight, but we must first locate how many are coming, and p'raps after all they may be friendlies, though I wouldn't give much for the chance."

"Neither would I," replied George, laughing. "Well, I'll tell you what I propose; we'll just lay low and be guided by circumstances, and, in the meantime, look to our arms."

The two men's revolvers were loaded, and the magazine of their rifles full; after they had examined them carefully they sat in solemn silence, with every nerve strained to its highest tension for the slightest suspicious sound.

Every moment increased their certainty of the approach of horsemen, although at a slow pace, for the sounds were infinitely more distinct.

"They're coming, right enough," said Brian abruptly in a whisper. "I caught the sound of voices just now, and by jabers it seems to me they're Gypies."

This was a surmise of the Irishman's imagination, for as yet Helmar had heard no voice; but still the sounds came nearer.

"Another two minutes and it'll be time to give the signal to Captain Forsyth," said Helmar, feeling over the face of his watch.

"Eh? And bring a hornet's nest about us!" exclaimed the Irishman in disgust. "But there, it's military orders, and I suppose they must be obeyed, whatever the consequences."

"It seems to me all wrong anyhow," replied Helmar; "I don't think he ought to have given such an order. A scout has no business to give signals like that, or even to carry matches, but I suppose it's got to be done. Get your pistol out and be ready while I strike a light."

A grunt from the Irishman signified assent, and, a moment after, Helmar struck a match. Simultaneously as the match flared up, there was a howl from the west, and the two watchers heard the galloping of horses from that direction, while from the eastward they heard a loud "whoop" from Captain Forsyth, who almost instantly dashed up.

"Quick, for your lives, men," he cried, "we are surrounded. There's a party of the enemy in hot pursuit of me. We must turn back and try to outflank them and join the rest of the patrol. Come on!"

Leading the way, he turned his horse and the three men galloped off.

"It's no go, cap'n," cried Brian, whose horse had leapt into the lead and was trying to bolt. "There's a party coming straight for us. Let's make a stand and give 'em a taste of our lead."

"On, man, on for your life! They're coming in all directions," he shouted back. "That match did it."

They turned their horses in another direction, but as they did so a rattle of musketry met them, and a hail of bullets flew over and around them.

"Pull up," said Forsyth, in quiet tones, "the game's up, we must make a fight for it."

Another volley whistled about them, and Brian's horse was hit and fell to the ground.

"Are you hurt?" cried Helmar, dismounting to his assistance.

"Not a bit," replied the fallen man cheerily, springing to his feet.

The officer jumped off his horse, and the three men stood ready to sell their lives as dearly as possible. They were none too soon, for, in the darkness, the enemy, riding at full gallop, were almost on top of them before they could pull up. The moment they were near enough to see, they poured another murderous volley into the devoted little party, and the Irishman fell with a bullet through his chest. In reply, the Captain and our hero blazed away with their rifles into the cluster of horsemen.

Suddenly a voice rang out above the noise of the cracking rifles, and the Arabs ceased fire; then clear and strong came in unmistakable European tones—

"Surrender, you English, or you die!"

In an instant Helmar recognized the voice—it was Arden's. Rage filled him as he thought that once more he was in the power of this man, and he made up his mind to fire his last cartridge before he gave in. He raised his rifle to his shoulder, but Forsyth stayed him.

"It's no use. He has got us foul. Alive we may escape, but with fifty to one against us, it is suicide." Then raising his voice to a shout, he cried, "We surrender!"

The words were hardly out of his mouth when, with a terrific shout, a volley was poured into the unprepared Arabs, and a frightful melee ensued as the rest of the patrol, headed by the sergeant, charged to the rescue.

In the confusion Forsyth and Helmar sprang on to their horses—Brian was beyond their help—and galloped towards their friends. The darkness was so intense that the two men immediately got separated. Helmar unconsciously altered his direction and immediately fell in with a party of horsemen galloping off. Thinking it to be the patrol, he joined them, and raced away. His horse was very fresh and quickly forged ahead into the midst of his companions, when, to his dismay, he discovered his mistake—he was in the midst of the flying enemy.

With an exclamation of horror he endeavoured to pull up, but this attracted attention, and the men beside him, turning, saw his white face and shouted to their leader. George raised his revolver, but ere he could pull the trigger it was knocked from his hand and he was defenceless.

The Arabs now closed all around him—there was no possibility of escape. One man had seized his horse's bridle, and he was forced to gallop on whether he liked it or not. He threw back his head and shouted, thinking his friends might still be within hearing, but a blow on the mouth with the butt end of a pistol silenced him, and bursting with rage and mortification he had to gallop on.

His feelings were terrible; to be captured in this childish manner was too disgusting for words—and by Arden too! He railed bitterly at losing the Captain in the darkness.

"If I had only had sense enough to stick close to him," he thought to himself, "I should have been all right, instead of again being in the power of this treacherous Mark. There'll be precious little mercy for me this time, and when we get to his camp, I expect he'll have me hanged."

Then the thought struck him that as yet Mark, if he was with the party, had not seen him, and he felt inclined, notwithstanding the exigencies of his position, to laugh at the surprise it would cause that worthy when he became aware of who his prisoner chanced to be.

They were ascending a hill, and on the top of it George could see a number of lights twinkling and bobbing about through the fringe of bush that covered it. His captors gave him but little time to speculate as to the place they were nearing, for not for one instant did they slacken their speed as they ascended the steep slopes. Helmar knew by the pace of the journey that he could not be far from Kafr Dowar, but he had never heard that it was on a hill, and besides, the railway passed through it. This latter thought convinced him that this place must be only some patrolling station of the rebels, and he felt sorry for himself that such was the case; he would probably be in the power of Arden or some subordinate, either of whom might, as likely as not, order him to be beheaded for the amusement of the crowd.

These thoughts were not very comforting, and he was glad to put them from him for others of a less morbid character, as he entered the low scrubby bush in which the camp was pitched.

No word had passed between him and his captors from the moment they had become aware of his presence amongst them. This ominous silence had struck him at first as curious, but realizing a few of the peculiarities of the "Gypies," he took this for one of them and refrained from breaking it.

He was still in doubt as to whether Arden was with them, or whether this was another party altogether, but, whichever way it was, he meant to keep to himself the fact that he could understand Arabic, and trusted that his knowledge of their language might help him to escape, or at least save his skin.

On the whole, after the first shock of his capture was over, he began to think that his fate might have been very much worse; he might have been with poor Brian lying dead on the sandy plain, a prey for the vultures who would swarm in dozens over his carcase at daylight; or he might only have been wounded, when to be left out in the scorching rays of the sun would have been ten times worse.

With reflections such as these he endeavoured to comfort himself, and, as he entered the rebels' encampment, he felt he was ready to face anything that was likely to happen.

Passing by a row of mud huts, the party drew up outside one bigger than the rest.

Helmar was jealously guarded by two of the soldiers armed with rifles and pistols, while a confabulation was being held by the rest. They were talking some yards away, and so many tongues were going at once that it was impossible for him to make out what was said.

At last, however, they evidently came to a decision, and at a word he was led off, with his horse, to a hut where his guards told him in Arabic to dismount.

George was prepared for something like this, and remained where he was, pretending that he did not understand. Immediately the men, taking the bait, conveyed their meaning by signs, and he instantly dismounted. He was then led into the hut, and the moment after the soldiers left him, closing and barring the door behind them.



CHAPTER XVI

WE MEET AGAIN

The place in which George found himself so roughly thrust was pitch dark. He vainly turned from side to side to discover, if possible, what his surroundings were, but he could see nothing. The ominous "clumping" of the bars as the rebel soldiers put them in place, warned him that they had no idea of giving him any opportunity of escape, and he must be content for a while at least to remain where he was and make the best of things. He listened for the sound of retreating footsteps, but, hearing none, concluded that the two men had been told off to mount guard over him, thus making his captivity doubly secure.

Waiting for a moment or two, to get accustomed to the darkness, he proceeded to feel his way about, in the hopes of finding something on which to sit and rest; but, after hesitatingly moving round the walls, he came to the conclusion that the hut was bare of all furniture, and if he wished for rest he must sit on the ground. Being somewhat philosophical, this he did, leaning his back against the wall, and gave himself up to formulating a plan of campaign. This was no easy matter; he had but the vaguest ideas what his fate was to be, and therefore it was impossible to know what was the best line of action to adopt.

The one thing he feared was that there was no sufficiently powerful rebel here to protect him from the barbarity of the half-wild soldiery; and if this were so, his life, when daylight came, would not be worth twopence. If Mark Arden happened to be in command he might possibly attempt to save him for a worse fate than even the one he had already pictured; of the two, he would sooner face the soldiers, for then his end would be swift, and he could at least face it like a man.

His thoughts brought him so little comfort, so little hope, that at last he put them from him altogether, and, in spite of all his danger, in spite of all this discomfort, he curled himself up and slept the sound refreshing sleep of a tired man. Once more he was back in Germany, once more amongst the students of the University; the Debating Society was in full swing, and he was again enacting that little drama in the club-rooms. Somehow Arabi was mixed up with it all, encouraging him to help his friend from the bullying Landauer, smiling brightly on him as he uttered the scathing words preceding his challenge. Suddenly in the midst of it all there came a terrific peal of thunder, and he awoke with a start, to hear the bars being removed from his prison-door and to see the bright sunlight streaming in through cracks in both roof and wall of the cranky hut.

He rubbed his eyes for a moment to make sure he was not still dreaming, then, as the door was flung open and the dirty face of a ragged, half-dressed soldier appeared, he recollected everything, and sprang to his feet in anticipation of rough treatment.

Critically scanning the man who stood before him, George could not be certain if it was the same fellow who had thrust him in there the night before. He was not long left in doubt, for he was addressed in the broken English common to natives used to mixing with Europeans, and George knew at once that this was a fresh jailer.

"The officer will speak with the Englishman," he said with a grin.



"Oh," replied George in the same language, "and what does he want with me? Who is this officer? Why can't he come to me?" he went on in defiant tones.

"You are prisoner, and the officer he not come to prisoners. You are to die soon," was the comforting reply.

"Yes, and who is going to kill me? You?" with fine contempt in his tones, eyeing the insignificant wretch up and down.

"I come not here to talk with the dog of a Christian. If you will not come with me, I must take you, for the Pasha will not wait. Come!"

Helmar burst out into a loud laugh. The thought of this dirty little Egyptian taking him anywhere against his will was too much for him; notwithstanding the exigencies of the situation he resolved to tease him.

"And how do you propose to drag me from here if I do not choose to go?"

The little man's eyes glittered, and his hand rested on a revolver in his belt. He saw that the "dog of a Christian" was laughing at him, and he did not like it.

"My orders are to bring you; if you will not come alive, then——" and he drew his revolver and levelled it at George's head.

Thinking he had gone far enough, and realizing that the wretch was in earnest, George stopped laughing.

"All right, lead the way, I'll go with you. But you might give me something to eat; I haven't touched food since yesterday afternoon and am hungry."

"You not need food much longer," replied the man with a grim smile, as he led the way out into the scorching sunlight.

"Evidently," thought George, "they don't intend to waste time with me. But, by Jupiter! I'll make a fight for it when the time comes!"

The place he was in was a small encampment of mud huts scattered about amongst a scrubbly low bush. A number of rebel soldiers were to be seen in various attitudes of laziness, all smoking or chewing. As George passed along with his guide they eyed him with much disfavour, without moving from their particular position of ease, and if looks could kill, he would never have reached the officer's hut alive.

"What place is this?" he asked, more interested in his surroundings than in his fate. "Is it Kafr Dowar?"

The man shook his head and refused to answer. Not yet satisfied, George tried again.

"How far is this from Alexandria?"

This time the answer came short, sharp, and in deep tones of hatred.

"Too far for the Christian ever to return."

"How these wretches do hate Europeans," thought he, as he trudged along beside the man and began to think more seriously of what was in store for him.

A few yards further on they stopped outside the same hut where they halted the night before. The guard knocked at the door, which was instantly opened, and two soldiers barred the way. George's guard at once explained, and the two men fell back, leaving them free to enter.

The guide led the way. The room was dark, and as far as Helmar could see at first glance, it was as devoid of windows and in almost as ruinous a condition as his prison. He saw in one swift glance an untidy bed, covered with brown blankets, occupying one side of the room, and then his attention was riveted on a man dressed in Egyptian costume writing at a table in the centre of the apartment. He seemed to take no notice of their approach, so absorbed was he in his work; not a movement escaped him beyond the manipulation of his pen, which was decidedly rapid, George thought, for an "uncivilized savage."

The prisoner had time to note the long sword hanging at the man's side, and also the sinister projecting butt of a revolver from his belt, but beyond this there was nothing to mark him out as anything much above the rest of the rebels he had seen.

George and his guide halted in front of the table, and the officer with a movement of irritation threw down his pen and looked up. There was a momentary silence, and the two men exchanged glances of mutual defiance and hatred. Then, with an unpleasant smiling curl of the lip, the latter said—

"So, George Helmar, we meet again!"

It was Mark Arden. Helmar had not been altogether unprepared for this meeting. Mark, he knew, was in the neighbourhood, but he had not been certain he was to be the arbitrator of his fate. He thought swiftly, and quickly realized that no feelings of similar nationality and education would help to save him from this villain's vengeance. He therefore determined to put on the boldest face possible, and meet defiance with defiance, hatred with contempt, and let his captor understand that he did not care a jot for anything that he could do to him.

"You escaped me before, but I thought it would not be long before I should again get hold of you. That was a smart trick you served me at Port Said, and I haven't forgotten it."

George smiled, as he thought how easily he had outwitted this man before, and wondered if there were no possibility of repeating the operation. Mark seemed to read his thoughts.

"No, my friend, it will not happen again; I will see to that. I have you more fully in my power now, and I can assure you I have no intention of letting you again slip through my fingers."

"That remains to be seen," replied George, coolly. "But you haven't paid me that money yet, and I shall be glad of it just now."

This was only said out of bravado, and had its effect. Mark could not refrain from smiling as he replied——

"What, still harping on the old theme? Ah, well, you always were a cool fellow, but I'm afraid your coolness will avail you little now. I gave you a chance at Port Said, for old acquaintance' sake, a chance which you wantonly threw away in a manner little calculated to enlist my sympathy; and now, nothing I can do will save you," and he grinned fiendishly at the irony of his own words.

George was not in the least taken in by them; he knew full well that this man would stop at nothing to injure him, so he treated his words with contempt.

"Ah, you do not believe me," Mark went on, observing the look of disdain on George's face.

"But you will soon see. Listen to this," and he read from what he had written on the paper in front of him.

"I am sending down a man captured, by my command, in the act of spying our works here. He is an interpreter to the enemy, and therefore a man to be feared. I refrain from sentencing him here, as a spy is always a useful subject for interrogation for the authorities, and if he receives his punishment here, of course that will all be lost."

"That is my dispatch to Arabi, Helmar, as far as you are concerned. Doubtless you can draw your own conclusions as to its meaning."

"Yes," replied George, "I can. It means that you are asking to have me shot, probably tortured first to extract information from me which I do not possess. Bah! you are a cowardly hound!"

"Exactly. For the sake of Auld Lang Syne," he replied coldly. "I do not care to have your execution on my hands. But I have no intention of letting you escape. Now you understand what I meant when I said that nothing could save you."

As he finished speaking, he again bent over his writing. George watched him as his pen flew rapidly over the paper; he had nothing that he cared to say to such a despicable hound. He was simply raging with indignation at the traitor, and his fingers twitched longingly to get to the man's throat. However, he restrained himself, and waited for anything further that he had to say. Presently he looked up.

"Well, is there anything I can still do for you?" he asked, in a sneering tone. "Although your fate has been decided, and I know that in less than a week you will be dead, I do not wish to deny you any comfort that my camp can provide."

His words came short and sharp, and their tone was in no wise calculated to bring any relief to George's pent-up feelings, but rather aggravated them.

"If you have finished all you have to say," he said sternly, "I shall be glad to return to my prison."

Arden laughed coarsely at Helmar's indifference, and yet, while the smile was still on his lips, a look of anxiety came into his eyes as the calm demeanour of his former friend struck a latent chord of fear in his black heart. It passed, however, as quickly as it came, and angry that even for one moment he should have feared this man, he burst on him with a torrent of invective.

"Leave me at once," he cried, pointing to the door; "go back to your kennel, you cur! If you stay here another minute I shall forget that I said I would not be responsible for your sentence! Here, guards, seize him and take him away!" He paused for a moment as the two soldiers obeyed, and then in cooler tones gave one parting shot. "When next we meet, Helmar, I shall pay my debts!"

"When next we meet, you can have no choice: you shall pay them in full," rejoined Helmar quietly, as the guards marched him off.

George breathed more freely when he found himself once more out in the brilliant sunlight. The atmosphere of that house had to him been unbearable, the presence of the villain Arden had taxed his feelings and temper to their utmost, and it was with a sense of intense relief that he surveyed again the mud huts and the lazy soldiers outside.

The bright, hot sun, the fresh, sweet air quickly restored his mental balance, and he glanced at the many faces of the men lying about as he slowly sauntered, under the escort of his guards, towards his prison. He had not gone many paces when his attention was attracted towards a man who, just as he came abreast of where he was lying, turned over and grabbed at the air with his hand as though to catch some flying insect. The fellow's action was so out of keeping with the laziness of his attitude that Helmar glanced more keenly at him, and was astonished to see him looking hard at him. Immediately it flashed across his mind that he had seen the man before, but where he could not say. However, the recognition seemed mutual, for as the soldier lay back again, there was an unmistakable smile on his face, and Helmar went on towards his hut wondering.

As soon as he arrived there, George stepped in and the door was closed upon him. While he had been away an aperture in the wall had been uncovered, and the miserable room was well lit up. He walked over to the opening and found that it was a small window, or rather square hole in the wall evidently used for that purpose. Carefully set in the centre of the floor was some rough food and a pitcher of water, and as he gazed at it, he thought that, uninviting as it looked, he could have done with quite double the quantity; however, satisfied that they did not intend to starve him, he fell to with a keen relish, and felt all the better when he had finished.

Notwithstanding the prospect of immediate death, he was in no wise disturbed, and, as he leaned back against the wall after his repast was finished, his mind centred on the familiar face he had just seen, and he wondered again and again where he had seen it before.

With tantalizing persistency the recollection stuck to him, and, equally tantalizingly, he was unable to recall his previous acquaintance with it. At last his thoughts began to drift, and he reviewed the events of his life since he had landed in Egypt.

An hour passed in this way, when suddenly he started up with an exclamation.

"Of course, what a fool I am!" he muttered. "He is the mate of Naoum's dahabieh. I remember distinctly now. I wonder how he got here; he seemed a decent sort of nigger, too! I wonder if he were forced into Arabi's service against his will? I must find out; if so, he may be of use to me." Joy came into his heart, and he laughed aloud.

He already began to picture himself fooling Arden for the second time, although how was not quite plain even to himself. Still, as a drowning man will cling to a straw, George grasped at this one gleam of hope, and it brought him a peace of mind that he had not felt since he was captured the night before.

The day dragged wearily on. At short intervals his guards would look in to see that he was not attempting to escape, and, satisfied with their inspection, would prop themselves in a sitting posture outside the door against the wall, and to all appearance sleep.

Towards sundown food was again brought to him, and at the same time his guard was changed. While he was yet eating his unsavoury meal one of the new men entered—it was the man he had recognized.

Glancing furtively at his fellow-guard outside, he advanced to the centre of the room, and with a smile that displayed a row of brilliant teeth, said——

"You remember, eh, de dahabieh?"

Helmar glanced up with a smile.

"Yes, you helped us to beat off the rebels, I remember. I saw you this morning. But how came you here?"

For reply, the man put his finger to his lips and glanced towards the door; then, as if expecting a spy, stepped over to the window and looked out. Satisfied with his inspection, he came back, and, squatting himself down on the floor, looked for a moment at his prisoner.

"I come because I cannot stay," he replied in fairly good French. "They come to de dahabieh—Arabi's men—and they say I must go with them, so I am here, but I not like."

"Ah, I see, you were pressed into the service," said Helmar, "and you are here against your will."

The man nodded, then again glancing suspiciously round, said—

"But you, they kill you—Arabi shoot you when you get to Damanhour."

"I'm afraid that is their idea," replied George, with a rueful face, "unless I can escape, and that doesn't seem very likely."

"Naoum is at Damanhour," said the man thoughtfully. "If he know you here, he no let them kill you. You go from here at sunrise to-morrow, I am to be one of your guard."

George was on the alert in an instant. He could see that this man wanted to help him if he could only find a way. Apparently the fellow was not very resourceful, so he determined that he must suggest something himself.

"You say that Naoum is at Damanhour, and you are to be one of my escort—well, look here. Do you think you could manage to give him a note from me when we arrive? He will pay you well."

"Me want no pay. Naoum is a good master, and I am his servant. I do all you want. Naoum knows his servant. I come again at dark, and you have your letter written, and I take it."

Without waiting for anything further, the man sprang to his feet and joined his companion outside. There was such an air of sincerity about the fellow that Helmar at once felt he could trust him, so without hesitation he set about writing the note. He found a pencil in his pocket, and using the inside of an envelope, gave a brief outline of what had befallen him, addressed it to Naoum, and then set himself to await the coming of his guard. Just as it was getting dark, the fellow again entered the prison, and without a word, took the note and departed. As soon as he had gone, George stretched himself out on the rough, sandy floor, and prepared to take as good a night's rest as possible. He felt convinced in his own mind that the means of escape had been found, and was now content to wait the outcome without apprehension. It was indeed a relief to him that he had found a friend in this hornet's nest of cut-throats, and he hoped sincerely that the man's honest intentions might not miscarry.

With his mind still dwelling on thoughts such as these he fell asleep, and, rough and hard as was his couch, his sleep was calm and peaceful; as the other guard looked in and listened to his regular breathing, his conscience was at rest when, later on, he followed his prisoner's example.



CHAPTER XVII

HAKESH THE PRIEST

As the guard had said, at sunrise the next morning the order was given for George to be conducted to Arabi's head-quarters. After the prisoner had been served with his rough breakfast, his horse was brought to him. His guard assembled, no less than six men, to form his escort, and he was ordered to mount. Just as they were about to start, Mark Arden made his appearance.

"So you are off on your long journey, Helmar?" he said, in tones that plainly implied his meaning. "Sorry I shall not be able to travel with you, but I have no doubt Arabi will know how to treat you properly. I have pointed out to him many salient points in your character, that I know will appeal to him—don't you wish you were back at Koenigsberg?" And he broke off with a taunting laugh.

"There's a good old adage that it would be as well for you to remember, Arden," replied George; "'There's many a slip,' etc. It's a favourite one of mine. And just by way of a piece of advice, don't forget the British advance, they'll give you but short shrift."

"You needn't worry about me, I know all their doings, and by the time their slow movements bring them near enough to do me any harm, my plans will all be complete, and I shall be miles away." He paused for a moment, and a shadow passed over his face; then he suddenly burst out, "Helmar, you are a great fool. Why don't you join me? I have power, you are a German, the British are our enemies—there is yet time. Say the word, and I will free you—we will blot out old scores, and work together."

George gave the man one look of withering scorn.

"You think to coerce me!" he cried with flashing eyes. "You think that I am made of the same currish clay as yourself, and because I am in your power, and you intend to have me wantonly murdered, that I will accept any means of saving my life! But you are wrong! The British are not my enemies, if they are yours. They have stood my friends ever since I came to this country, and, in return, I cannot do less than be faithful to their interests. Rather than associate myself with you, I would be blown from a cannon's mouth—that will show my opinion of you; and now let us get on with the journey—the very sight of you makes me sick."

"So be it! Go! Go to your doom, you fool!"

Arden gave the order to march, and the little party moved off. As they made their way out of the camp, Helmar could not help feeling pleased that he had had another opportunity of letting Mark know what he thought of him, it added to his sense of elation at the prospect which had been opened up to him, of a possible means of escape; he had that feeling which comes to all men after having performed an action that redounds credit to their moral character. So that when the little French-speaking soldier, who had first conducted him to Arden's presence, approached and bullyingly told him that any attempt to escape on his part would bring about immediate death to himself, he only smiled, and replied very cheerfully——

"All right, my friend, if I attempt to do so, I am quite willing to stand the consequences. But if I may be allowed to know—where am I being taken to?"

"The great Pasha is now at Damanhour, whither we go. If when we come there he is gone, we shall follow. My orders are to deliver you to him and no one else."

"Good!" replied Helmar. "I would sooner be sentenced by this great rebel than by any subordinate. I am more likely to be treated fairly decently."

Helmar was not in any way bound; he was given free use of his hands, but the bridle of his horse was secured to that of one of his guard's horses, and even if he had wished to do so, there was but little chance of getting away. However, he had not the least intention of attempting any such mad enterprise, infinitely preferring to trust to the man who carried his note to Naoum.

They were to reach Damanhour that night, the distance was about twenty miles, and they intended to travel only in the cool of the day. After about an hour's journey, the guard halted at a clump of bush, the horses were off-saddled, and the little party prepared to rest until evening. The heat was intense, and the welcome shade of the trees was like water to the thirsty rider in the desert. To Helmar, unaccustomed to this mode of travelling, it was an indescribable relief to sit down on the sandy soil, with his back propped against his saddle, and watch the shimmering haze of heat across the sun-scorched plains. It made him think of the stories he had heard of the weary traveller lost in the desert, no water with which to moisten his parching throat, his tongue swollen, black, and immovable in his mouth, with already the first signs of delirium and insanity showing in his erratic and aimless actions. He shuddered as the picture presented itself, and thanked his stars that he was seated, though a prisoner, beneath such a deliciously refreshing shade.

His escort distributed themselves under the various low bushes around, one man only, his little guide of the day before, sitting by his side to guard him. In a few minutes, with this one exception, they were all asleep. It seemed to George that these men could sleep at all hours of the day or night; in fact, as far as he could see, it was their one pastime. Work and watchfulness, except when compulsory, seemed to be quite out of the native ken.

Hours passed, and at last one by one the men awoke, a fire was kindled, and food, in a careless, lazy sort of way, was prepared. After the meal was finished, they again slept, and Helmar was once more left to his own reflections. The sun was already past the meridian, and getting well down towards the horizon, but the heat was still too great for travelling. The little Egyptian again sat silently beside his charge.

Suddenly, George caught sight of the figure of an Arab approaching. He was some distance off, and as yet the one wakeful guard had not seen him. Helmar eyed the stranger keenly as he approached, wondering who he could be travelling in that intense heat, on foot, in a country infested with lawless soldiery. The stranger came steadily on, and as he drew near, Helmar noticed that, although dressed in flowing Eastern garb, he was a white man, and of patriarchal age. He had a snow-white beard, that reached to his waist, and his figure was tall, lean, attenuated, and tottering. Altogether his appearance was so fascinating that George drew his guard's attention to it.

"Who can that old man be, coming along there on foot?" he asked, in French. "And what on earth is a tottering old fellow like him doing about by himself in such a place?"

The guard looked in the direction indicated, and a peculiar expression passed over his face as his eyes rested on the stranger. Without a word of reply the man jumped up and roused his comrades, and a conversation in Arabic ensued. Helmar listened intently.

"See, see," cried the little man. "It is that madman, Hakesh, the Christian, the priest who goes about calling down the wrath of Allah on our beloved leader. See, he comes from the direction of Mishish, where he has been stirring up the people against Arabi, calling on them to assist the dogs of Christians."

A whispered conversation followed, the purport of which George could not catch, but evidently there appeared to be a divided opinion in the discussion. The friendly mate from the dahabieh seemed to be strongly opposed to some plan the little man was laying before them, and his eyes were flashing ominously. Suddenly the Arab who had first spoken raised his voice.

"You are no good believer, Belbeis," he cried, in angry tones. "This dog of a priest is harmful. If our master knew what you say, you would rot in prison. No, he must die—nobody will be the wiser, and we shall get reward. Think, the great Pasha will make us all rich, and Allah will be pleased."

The Egyptian's words struck on Helmar's heart with a cold chill. The old man, Hakesh, was approaching feebly yet fearlessly, perhaps not even knowing the danger that awaited him, and that these fiends in human form were about to murder him in cold blood. The thought was too awful, and George looked about helplessly for a means to thwart them. He might call out and warn the approaching patriarch, but this, he knew, would be useless, for then the five men would fire a volley of bullets into his poor withered old body. No, that would not do. Just then George caught the sound of Belbeis's voice protesting loudly.

"You are a fool, Abdu, you are like all the rest. Does Hakesh not look to all the sick? does he not help the poor?—besides, no Egyptian takes notice of his words, no true believer will follow his guidance, for he is mad. See, if anything is to be done, take him in as a prisoner to the Pasha, but do not kill him or evil will overtake you. He is insane!"

The old man had now sighted the occupants of the bush, and increased his pace. He was only a few steps off, and George could see the benevolent expression of the kind face, and the determined light in the dark, steel-blue eyes, which not even the man's great age could dim.

The discussion amongst the guard had now ceased, and they stood looking on as the old man came up. The little Abdu stood out ahead of his companions, aggressively eyeing the stranger as he came up.

"Peace be with you, my children!" said Hakesh, in a thin, quavering voice, as he stood in front of the party. "You are resting on your weary journey, I see. I will rest with you, for the sun is hot; I have walked far, and am weary too."

The old man made as though to walk over to a bush and sit down, but Abdu intercepted him.

"No, no, you cannot rest here, we are all true believers, and you are no friend of the Pasha's. You preach against him, and call upon all men to take up arms with the dogs of Christians. You cannot take rest with men of the true faith," and he barred the old man's way threateningly.

One or two of the other men backed their leader up, but Belbeis hung back with a look on his face that boded no good to Abdu. Helmar saw the look and had risen to his feet quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the soldiers, but Hakesh caught sight of his white face, and a smile came into his eyes.

"Ah," he said, addressing Helmar in English, "you can speak for me. I cannot make these people understand that I am a man of peace, and would rest."

Abdu did not understand what he said, but seeing him address Helmar, quickly interposed.

"He cannot assist you, he is a prisoner, therefore do not waste words with him. He is a dog of a Christian, too!"

"Peace to your revilings!" answered Hakesh, in a tone of irritation. "Because you are not of our religion, it is no reason to call us dogs. Stand aside, I am weary and must rest."

Either he did not understand that the soldiers were threatening, or he refused to let him see that he did, for he put out one trembling hand and endeavoured to push the little wretch on one side. The moment his hand touched Abdu, the match was set to the train and the explosion followed.

"You would dare to lay a hand on a true believer!" he cried, in his high-pitched voice, his small, wicked eyes glittering with the lust for vengeance. "Dog, you are in my power, you have roused the people against Arabi, you shall go with us, a prisoner to the great Pasha—we shall see! Seize him!" he shouted to the others. "Lash him to a tree and we will flog him!"

Four of the men advanced to do his bidding. Belbeis had not moved. The old man looked round helplessly, not knowing what to expect. Then as the men caught hold of him he struggled feebly. Abdu had stood by, but the moment he saw Hakesh struggle he drew a knife. Helmar, who had not taken his eyes off the man for a moment, saw this. The old man continued his struggle, and Abdu, with murder written on his face, edged round behind him.

Without a word of warning, Helmar with the agility of a tiger darted forward, and with one terrific blow felled the Egyptian to the ground.

"Murder him, would you! You miserable hound! I'll give you a lesson!"

He was about to continue his chastisement, when he found himself surrounded by the rest of the guard. He saw the flash of steel, and then jumping back beside the old man, he faced the infuriated men. As they were about to attack, Belbeis sprang into their midst, and, shouting at them, forced them aside.

For a moment the men paused, and Belbeis at once got the hearing he wanted.

"You fools! What would you do? Kill our prisoner, for the sake of this tottering old man? Out upon you for a flock of foolish vultures! If the white man is harmed we shall lose our heads when the Pasha hears of it."

He spoke quickly and with force, and the ignorant soldiers were quick to see the importance of his arguments, but their thirst for blood was great and they were loth to give up the hated Christian.

Abdu had recovered and sat up, with a huge lump on his forehead where Helmar had struck him.

"Why do you not kill him?" he shouted. "You stand there skulking, while he murders me. Seize him, and let him see what it means to strike one of the faithful."

Belbeis raised his hand.

"Peace," said he, "you brought it on yourself. You would have murdered the old man while we made him prisoner. You may be glad that the Christian stayed your hand, or our lives would have paid the forfeit."

"I care not!" cried Abdu, foaming with rage. "You shall obey me! I am your officer! Kill him, I say!"

"You may not care, but we do," answered Belbeis, calmly. "You may say and do as you like, but we will not let your doings bring the Pasha's wrath on our heads."

The little man still raged, but had to be content, and a compromise was brought about between Belbeis and the others, to the effect that Helmar's hands should be bound and the old man taken on to Damanhour a prisoner. As soon as this was settled, the party once more saddled up and continued their journey.

Hakesh was made to mount behind Helmar's saddle, and in this uncomfortable position the poor old man clung to him for support.

"I can never thank you sufficiently for saving my life," said he, as they rode slowly along. "True, I am so old that it does not much matter, but my work is not yet done, and I would live to see it finished."

"There is no need of thanks," replied George. "I am glad to have helped you. However, our troubles are not yet ended. Abdu won't soon forget that cuff I gave him—we have yet much to fear from his spite."

The old man's attention was now entirely taken up with clinging on to his position, and he relapsed into silence. Helmar was occupied with thoughts of escape, so nothing more was said until the town of Damanhour was reached.



CHAPTER XVIII

BEHIND PRISON BARS

On his arrival at Damanhour George was conducted by his guards straight to the prison where he was to be confined. The gaol was one of the many ramshackle buildings which the village was comprised of. As the little party slowly made their way through the unpaved streets, they were intently watched by crowds of men, women, and children; the men were principally rebel soldiers, mixed with a smattering of insurgent townspeople, the women and children—creatures of all sorts—from the village folk to the common ruck which follows a native army. Many were picturesque, but others looked like the drainings of the slums of larger cities. There was no doubt as to the sentiments they entertained for the white people, for, as they caught sight of Helmar's face, under escort of rebel soldiers, unmistakable signs of rejoicing were shown, and more than once the threatening attitude of the mob made Helmar wonder if he would reach his destination alive.

As they neared the centre of the town, Hakesh drew his companion's attention to a building surrounded by high walls.

"That, I expect, is where they will imprison us. It is the town gaol, and since Arabi has been here they have used it for military purposes. It is a filthy den."

"I expect so," replied George. "From what little I know of these people, I should hardly expect cleanliness to be amongst their virtues. What do you think they will do to us?"

"That, my son, I cannot say," he replied, with his eyes fixed on the mud walls of the prison. "Arabi is not likely to kill us, I think; but should he be away we may be at the mercy of some subordinate officer who, as likely as not, may wish to get rid of us to curry favour with his chief. It is as well to be prepared for the worst."

Helmar remained silent, he was thinking of Naoum and the letter which the man, Belbeis, was carrying to him. Belbeis had told him that Naoum was here. Well, if that were the case, all might yet be well; but, on the other hand, if Arabi should have left, possibly Naoum had done the same. The predicament in which he found himself was one of great danger. He did not mind facing death, but he felt that he would like to outwit Arden.

The gaol was at last reached in safety, although not without some trouble. Abdu, with villainous intent, made known along the road the fact that his prisoner was a spy, with the result that stones were frequently thrown, and in many instances George narrowly missed being struck; it was with a sigh of relief that he passed through the crazy old gateway of the prison-yard.

Abdu, with his wicked eyes shining triumphantly, ordered him to dismount, and, as he reached the ground, George, with solicitous care, helped his companion from his uncomfortable position.

Primitive and unsafe as the outer wall had looked, the gaol itself appeared to be strong enough. All the windows were heavily barred, and the doors looked as if they were capable of withstanding a siege. The place was constructed largely of wood, and, thinking of Hakesh's words, George felt sure that a place so constructed was more than likely to be decidedly unclean.

He was not given much time to view his surroundings, for Abdu had him hustled into the building with as little delay as possible. Two of the soldiers seized him by the shoulders and pushed him in with scant ceremony. Just as he passed through the door of the room where he was to be confined, one of the men had to drop back to let him pass, and he entered with only one of his guards holding him.

"Naoum not here, I go find him," whispered the man as he released his hold.

Turning, George noticed what he had not seen before—Belbeis was the man who had come in with him. There was no time for conversation, but the man's words had a reassuring effect.

"Beware of Abdu!" whispered Belbeis, as he turned to leave, and then, exchanging a look of intelligence with his prisoner, he joined the other guard and the two men went out. The door was closed and securely bolted.

Left to himself, Helmar surveyed his prison. There was not a particle of furniture in the place, and the only means of light and fresh air entering was through a small, narrow, heavily-barred window. George looked at this with thoughts of escape in his mind, but the prospect was dim and uninviting; even if the bars could be removed he doubted the possibility of forcing himself through the aperture. He next turned his attention to the floor; it was the rough earth covered with filth; portions of food lay about in a rotting condition. The smell that emanated from them nearly made him sick. With feelings of despair he wondered how long he was to be confined in the loathsome hole.

Selecting a spot somewhat cleaner than the rest, he was about to seat himself, when happening to glance more closely, he sprang back with a horrified exclamation. Again he looked at the window and again he turned away in despair.

Night had closed in, and George made up his mind to a night of wakefulness rather than seat himself on that filthy ground. Round and round, backwards and forwards, he walked, wondering when some one would come who could give him something to sit upon.

Hours passed, but no one came. The time dragged so slowly that the night seemed never-ending. He began to feel hungry in spite of his sickening surroundings, and with his hunger came vain imaginings. He pictured all sorts of horrible torturings to which his savage captors might subject him. He wondered if he would be beheaded, or whether he would be shot; he would much prefer the latter, it seemed a cleaner way of dying and more in keeping with his calling. He laughed, as he pictured the rebels aiming at him and repeatedly missing their target, through bad marksmanship. Then he began to wonder what his companions would say when they heard of his end.

He stopped in front of the window and looked up at the sky. He stretched his arms and took hold of the two iron bars and shook them repeatedly, but they seemed quite firm and immovable. Several times he tried them, but each attempt left him more convinced than before that efforts in this direction were futile.

At last, utterly worn out and sick at heart, he leant against the wall and involuntarily his eyes closed; several times, as he dozed off, his knees gave way under him, and he narrowly escaped falling to the ground. Again he roused himself and started to walk.

He had not taken more than half-a-dozen steps when a hissing, crackling sound caught his ear and he paused to listen. What could it be? He went to the door from whence the sound proceeded. As he did so he noticed an unmistakable smell of burning.

He rushed to the window and looked out. The sky was clear and brilliantly illuminated with stars. Here the air was sweet and fresh. Turning again to the door, he noticed that the smell of burning had increased and the crackling was still going on. The truth flashed on him suddenly!

The gaol was on fire!

"So they would roast me alive, the scoundrels!" he muttered, as he stood hesitating as to what he should do.



Glancing first at the door, then at the window, he quickly made up his mind as to the best course to adopt. Smoke was already penetrating the cracks of the doorway. If he were to escape, it must be through the window. At that instant he thought of poor old Hakesh, and wondered what was happening to him. Where was he? Did they intend to roast him too?

"The inhuman devils!" he cried, as these thoughts flashed through his mind. He forgot about his own safety for the moment, as his mind wandered to the old priest. A flash of light through the crack of the door brought him back to his own position, and seizing the iron bars of the window with both hands he heaved and shook at them till the wall rocked, but they gave not an inch.

Gasping for breath, his hands sore with his terrible grip on the iron, he paused for a moment and cast about in his mind for a new idea. No other means of escape presented itself, so with the energy of despair he flung himself again on the rough iron. The room was rapidly filling with smoke, and he already found difficulty in breathing.

Pull and shake as he would, the iron seemed to remain firm in its socket, and he was about to cease his efforts, when he noticed that the mud wall that held it was cracked, and hope again filled him.

Leaving the bars for a moment he picked up a narrow piece of wood and jammed it as far as possible into the crack, then seizing the bar with one hand, he drew himself up and, placing his feet against the wall, pulled with all his strength. The wall opened out, and he drove the wedge far into the crack with his disengaged hand, and once more dropped to the ground.

The fire was rapidly increasing, the room was filled with blinding, choking smoke, and he became at once convinced that he had not many moments to spare before the fire would be upon him. One thing seemed certain, that, whoever had set light to the place must have been ignorant of his whereabouts in the building, or they intended to let the process of cooking him be slow. To what refinement had they brought their art of torture!

Seizing the iron bars again, he set to work. The wood he had inserted held the crack open, and the bar, now under the terrific power he used, began to move about. For two minutes he worked incessantly, every moment bringing the chance of escape nearer. With feverish anxiety he watched the loosening bar. Once he looked round; the flames were lapping the door, and the hissing, crackling of the fire sounded in every direction.

Again turning to his work, he gave one supreme wrench at the obstinate iron, and with a crack it yielded, flinging him to the floor. A lot of the brickwork had come away with the bar, and, as he sprang to his feet, he saw that in releasing one of the iron bars he had torn away sufficient of the wall to free the others. He tore them from their place in a flash, and at last the window was clear of obstruction.

Taking one of the iron bars with him, he climbed up to the aperture, but found the process of squeezing himself through was no easy one; cheered on by hope, and with fear of the fire behind, he at last succeeded, and dropped to the ground outside, only to find that the high wall surrounding the prison barred his way.

At least he had escaped the fire, but now, how to get out of the yard? He ran round the burning building in the hopes of finding an outlet, expecting every moment to fall in with some of the guard, but to his astonishment not a soul was about. At first this seemed strange, but as he realized that the building had been set on fire purposely, the desertion of it was quickly accounted for.

The only means of escape that now presented itself was a small outhouse built against the wall. This he clambered on to, and then, by the aid of some loose planks in the roof, succeeded in reaching the top of the wall.

The moment he looked over he cursed himself bitterly for not having waited until the house had burnt itself out before attempting to go further, for then, no doubt, thinking him dead, the crowd would have deserted the place. As it was, he saw a cluster of rebels standing watching the fire carry out its fell work.

He withdrew his head the instant he saw the murderous-looking mob. To expose himself on the top of the wall was merely to make a target of his body for a dozen rifles to "pot" at, and so nullify all he had accomplished. Yet how was he to get over on to the other side without being observed? If he could but alight on firm ground safely, he could then make a rush for it, and trust to the luck which, so far, had been on his side. He thought of the shadow cast by the wall, owing to the brilliant light of the burning prison behind, and he determined to try this one chance of escape.

In the excitement of the leap from the window he dropped his weapon, and only just discovered the fact. Scrambling back, he soon found it, and climbing once more on to the outhouse, without further hesitation he gradually rolled himself full length on to the top of the wall, slid his legs over, and letting himself down to arms' length, dropped to the ground. The wall was nearly fifteen feet high, so that he had dropped about seven. The moment he landed he recovered himself and ran for dear life, not knowing in the least where he was going.

At first he thought he had escaped notice, but it was not so, for scarcely had his brain formed the hope than one wild shout went up from the rebels, and the next instant he found himself closely followed by a hooting, murderous mob.



CHAPTER XIX

THE ESCAPE

The moment George realized he had been discovered, the spirit of "do or die" entered into his soul, and he flew along at the utmost speed at his command. He did not even check his hope that the race would end in his favour; he did not pause to wonder where he was going, or how he would elude his pursuers. He had got a short start of them which he meant to keep, and, if possible, increase. He could hear the gibbering of the mob gradually getting louder and louder as the crowd gathered up fresh recruits and surged along in pursuit of him. The distant burr increased to yells and shouts, and the clatter of fire-arms became so loud that George began to fear that his attempt at escape was quite futile. He never lost heart, however, and raced on and on at a pace surprising even to himself.

A man never learns what is possible until he is placed in a position that requires the apparently impossible. This was the situation George was now in. If he had stopped to ask himself the question, "Can I do it?" he probably would have been forced to answer it in the negative. As it was, he paid no heed to the danger behind, and thought only of the safety in front, if he could but keep up his speed long enough.

The infuriated rebels finding themselves unable with even their greatest efforts to come up with their prey, now began to fire at him, but, as their shots were not those of very expert marksmen, George became more amused than frightened as the bullets dropped either short of him or flew far above his head.

He was now getting into the inhabited part of the town, and tried to elude the pursuers by turning abrupt corners, but there was little chance of success in these tactics, for the "blackies" knew more about the place than he was ever likely to, and kept cutting him off in an alarming manner.

The day was beginning to break, and George felt that he must soon give in. As he was making a rapid turn in his path a well-aimed nabout came most uncomfortably close to his head. This incited him to greater effort, not so much from fear of being hit, as from the knowledge of the nearness of his pursuers.

Breathless, and with the life almost run out of him, he continued his mad career, the hue and cry of the mob goading him on and lending wings to his feet. Swift of foot as the blacks had been, they had shown themselves no match so far for the trained athlete they were pursuing. But there comes a time when even the best man must give in, and that time George felt was rapidly approaching. He had been running now for a long time, and had traversed a lot of ground. However, he was not done yet, and he still kept on, although in what direction he knew not. The street he was now in looked like one of the principal thoroughfares, and, as he was nearing the end of it, he saw, to his horror, another crowd ahead, running towards him.