THE HOLY MEN
As he scanned the scene, Frank smiled at his thought of the wonderment
of the khanji and his humble guests could they but see the habitat of
the mysterious "holy men." They, no doubt, had imagined a cave in the
cliff, or at best a stone grot, with nothing to suggest modern
civilization. What he actually saw had no semblance of luxury, indeed;
but it was far from the austerities of the anchorites of old.
On the left of the clearing, as he looked towards the sea, was a small
wooden bungalow, with a verandah about three sides of it, pleasantly
shaded by trees. Beyond it, at the edge of the wood, was a smaller hut,
also of wood. To the right were three more huts, one considerably
larger than the others; and by the side of this last was a crane, worked
by a donkey engine. Two men were moving about the place, hauling
packages from the large hut to the crane. Apparently they were to be let
down--to what destination below, Frank could not see.
"I am getting warm," he thought.
It was necessary to discover what lay beneath the crane, and Frank
glanced round to find some safe and convenient path by which he might
secretly approach it. As he did so, he caught sight of a short pole on
the roof of the bungalow, from which a single telegraph wire passed over
the clearing to the left and disappeared into the wood. Just below him,
skirting the clearing on the right, ran the stream with which he was
already acquainted. It was possible, he thought, under cover of the
shrubs on the further bank, to gain a point where he might satisfy his
curiosity. Cautiously making his way along, completely screened, he
came to a spot where the stream fell sheer to the level of the beach
between high cliffs, through which it cut a channel to the sea.
Immediately beneath the cliff on which the bungalow and the huts stood
there was a broad pool, bounded by a similar cliff on the opposite side.
And on this pool, just beneath the crane, lay a lighter.
Frank at once realised that the pool, like the buildings, was out of
sight from the sea. If a ship were to pass the entrance of the channel,
those on board, seeing the waterfall, would at once know that the stream
was not navigable, and would probably not think it worth while to enter
the channel. No one would suspect that within, indented in the cliffs
to the right, there was a small natural harbour, in which a vessel might
lie perfectly concealed. Its depth Frank had no means of determining.
Immediately beneath him the water was churned into foam by the falling
stream. But it was clearly deep enough to float a lighter, and it was
equally clear that the depth of the channel must be sufficient for its
passage in and out.
From his place of concealment Frank watched. At the foot of the crane
there was now a pile of small packages. From one of the huts came a
stout bearded man in grimy blue overalls. He sidled into his seat at
the donkey engine, jerked the throttle, and addressed one of the
labourers. He spoke in Turkish, but in a harsh guttural voice that could
proceed from none but a German throat. A moment later Frank heard
another voice from the direction of the bungalow, which was hidden from
him by the intervening huts. He could not distinguish the words, but
immediately afterwards a German sailor came out of the hut on the
seaward side of the bungalow, saluted, and rolled off into the woods
crowning the cliff. Before he had quite disappeared, Frank noticed a
second sailor climbing down the trunk of a tall tree, and lifting his
glass (the excellent article for which he was indebted to the major of
artillery with whom he had made certain exchanges in Gallipoli) he made
out a rope ladder swinging from a lofty branch. The two sailors met at
the foot of the tree. They exchanged a few words; then the newcomer
ascended the ladder, and the look-out he had relieved sauntered towards
the hut.
Realising that his hiding-place was commanded from the look-out post in
the tree, Frank slightly changed his position.
"I am getting warmer," he said to himself. Meanwhile the engine had
begun to puff. The crane extended its arm, and the chain rattled as one
of the men was let down into the lighter. The packages were then
lowered one by one, and stowed on board. When the last of them had been
placed, the man below caught hold of the chain, and the engine-man began
to lift him. But the man's feet were only a few feet above the vessel,
and the arm of the crane had just begun to swing round, when there came
an imperative call from the bungalow.
"Adolf!"
"Ja, Herr Major," shouted the engine-man.
He at once stopped the engine, and wiping his hands on a mass of waste,
hurried towards the bungalow, leaving the Turk swinging. Frank smiled
at this illustration of German discipline, and was still more amused
when he noticed that the Turk, instead of dropping into the pool and
clambering on board the lighter as he might have done safely, clung on
to the hook at the end of the chain and dangled there, apparently too
frightened to call out in a tone loud enough to be heard by the martinet
in the bungalow.
Frank's attention was withdrawn from the Turk by the same loud voice
bidding the engine-man hurry.
"That sounds uncommonly like Wonckhaus," he thought. "Why, of course!
That's not surprising. He was with the party at Panderma when I caught
sight of that periscope. But perhaps it isn't he. A lot of these
Germans have the same sort of voice. I'd like to make sure."
After a careful look round he stole back along the bank of the stream
until he came opposite the wood in the rear of the clearing, crossed to
the other side, crept through the wood, darted across the road, then
turned to the right and in the course of a few minutes reached the trees
which had been left standing to shade the bungalow when the ground was
cleared. Moving among them cautiously, he came to the rear of the
building. It had evidently been run up hurriedly. Piles of timber left
over from its construction were stacked close behind it. After a little
hesitation Frank gained the shelter of one of these. There were voices
at his right, where the verandah was closed at the end. The planks
there, being of unseasoned wood, had started, leaving one or two gaping
cracks. Frank looked through one of these into the verandah. Two men
were lolling in deck chairs. Between them was a table on which there
were tumblers, bottles, and the remains of a meal.
The furthermost man, whose face was towards Frank, was clearly a Turkish
officer. He was smoking a cigarette. The nearer figure, broader, more
massive, showed only his side face. That belonged either to Wonckhaus
or to his double. He was reclining at ease. His right hand held a big
cigar. Opposite him stood the engine-man.
"Get everything ready for to-night, then," Wonckhaus was saying.
"Jawohl, Herr Major."
At this moment shouts came from the direction of the pool. Frank smiled
again: the suspended Turk had at last mustered the courage of despair.
"What is that horrible noise?" demanded Wonckhaus.
"It is probably the hamal," replied the engine-man.
"Why does he shout? What is the matter with him? Is he drowning?"
"No, Herr Major, he is hanging."
"Lieber Himmel! What do you mean?"
"He is half way up. I left him there when the Herr Major summoned me.
He is getting tired. He will drop."
"Dummkopf! Go and haul him up instantly. He is a useful man."
Wonckhaus burst into loud laughter.
"It is amusing, very funny."
He took a long drink and resumed:
"There are occasions, lieutenant, when our admirable German discipline
recoils upon us. But one cannot have it all ways. Take a drink."
"Thank you, major, but I will not drink beer. Some Turks take it with a
quiet conscience, but not I."
"Please yourself. When we have been with you a little longer your
scruples will vanish. There are lemons; help yourself. How you can
drink lemonade passes my understanding. Lemons set my teeth on edge.
The scent of them makes me shudder."
The Turk was in the act of squeezing a lemon into a tumbler when a
telegraph instrument clicked.
"Take it, will you?" said Wonckhaus, indolently.
The Turk sprang up and went through a French window into the adjoining
room. The clicking continued for a while. Presently he returned.
"Three torpedo boats, two believed to be British, one French, sighted
off Cape Baba," he said.
"Ah! our friends will scarcely get in to-night, then, unless they have
already slipped past."
"It will not be easy to see them in the darkness."
"These English have eyes everywhere. They see in the dark like a cat.
Yet perhaps with luck and, what is better, German watchfulness, all will
be well. Hand me the telephone."
The Turk obeyed silently, but in a manner that suggested resentment at
the German's peremptory tone. Wonckhaus spoke into the instrument in
German.
"Keep a sharp look-out. Torpedo boats are reported off the coast."
The lieutenant got up and moved towards the door.
"I shall turn in," called Wonckhaus after him. "You had better do the
same. We shall be up all night; probably to no purpose. I am tired of
this. It would suit one of Von Tirpitz's men better than me."
He lay back in his chair, pulled at his cigar, and finding that it had
gone out, threw it away, rose, stretched himself, yawned, and walked
slowly into the bungalow.
Frank had heard and seen enough. He knew what the "holy men" were
engaged in. It only remained to return on his tracks and report his
discoveries to the lieutenant-commander, who would know how to act on
them. Slipping back into the wood, he made his leisurely way to his
former observation post, where he sat down and ate some food he had
brought from the khan, in the slow abstracted manner of one deep in
thought. Then he returned by the way he had come, found his horse in
the thicket, and rode southward, without hurry, for his friends would
not expect him until dark.
On approaching the road, he dismounted, again tied up his horse to a
tree, and threw himself on his back. He was very tired, but dared not
indulge his longing for a nap, and when he found slumber stealing upon
him, he sprang up and strolled about in the woods. The afternoon seemed
particularly long. But he was prudent enough not to take to the open
road until the fall of night. Then he rode rapidly, passed the khan,
turned his horse loose some distance from it, and struck off towards the
shore. It was a matter of some ten minutes' walking before he came to
the matting, which now lay dry on the beach where it had been left.
There he sat, looking over the sea, and listening intently. About an
hour later his ears caught the faint sound of muffled oars. He walked
down to the brink of the water, waited a few moments until assured that
he was not mistaken, then gave a low whistle. The boat pulled in, and
Frank, too impatient to await its beaching, waded out towards it and
scrambled over the side.
"Well?" whispered the lieutenant-commander.
"O.K. Now it's up to you. I'll tell you all about it when we get clear
of the shore."