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.
[Illustration: "And how do you propose to drag me from here if I do
not choose to go?" p. 181]
"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.