A silence settled down upon the prison and the cell in which Geoff and Philip had been thrust, once the clanging of the iron door which closed it had subsided—a silence which told rather on their nerves, and helped to rob them of their spirits. They sat just within the door, staring about them, noticing with concern, almost with dismay, the solid masonry built up above them, the two narrow windows which gave air and light, and the absence of any sort of opening which might give them a means of making their escape. Then Philip sat down on the edge of a low platform built against one of the walls and burst into loud whistling.
"No use being down-hearted! No use crying before we're hurt! In other words, it ain't no use giving up before we've tried, eh?" he blurted out when he had accomplished a few shrill bars of an air popular amongst his fellows.
"In fact, keep on hoping!" said Geoff, laughing now, though he had felt singularly depressed but a few moments earlier. "And, besides, Philip, I've an idea!"
"Let's hear it; something new, eh? An idea! Well, you astonish me!"
The incorrigible subaltern began whistling again, a shrill, exultant, happy whistle, and continued it though a moment later steps were heard in the corridor outside. There was a bang on the door, and the heavy iron concern was burst open. A smooth-faced, bald-headed, and raggedly dressed Turk thrust his head and shoulders in and grimaced at them. Then he opened his mouth, or rather let his lips fall apart, showing a set of gleaming white teeth which perhaps might have frightened younger people.
"Silence, dogs!" he shouted at them, and at the order Philip ceased whistling.
"Tell the old boy that we want food and water," he said to Geoff. "And, by the way, about that idea of yours, I suppose one can take it that this rascal can't speak English."
Geoff gave him a quick look, and, turning, to the jailer, demanded food and drink from him.
"As to calling us dogs," he said severely, realizing that to cringe to this ruffian would be to invite harsh treatment, and that sternness and unconcern on his part would be more likely to impress him—"as to calling us dogs, you rascal, bear in mind that we are not without friends in this country. Listen! You may know of one Tewfic Pasha? Ah! You know the man then! That is enough—bring food and water."
It was clear in a moment that if this jailer were inclined to be a somewhat rough and rude, if not a bullying, sort of individual, he yet had a certain fund of discretion, and, moreover, that even if he were the guardian of this cell, interned as it were, far away from active operations, he yet had knowledge of others outside the prison. He had heard of Tewfic Pasha, that was certain, for on the mention of the name his face had fallen, the grimace, the snarl, which he had turned upon the prisoners, was changed at once to a sly, fawning smile, while he even bowed in Geoff's direction.
"I was mistaken then, Excellency," he said at last, after some seconds had passed, during which he racked his brains for something to say. "Food and water? You shall have it, for I have orders to treat you with indulgence."
"Wait!" demanded Geoff, determined not to lose his hold over this fellow, and arresting him in the act of closing the door, "wait, my good fellow! Doubtless you will be caring for our comfort for some while to come, so that it may be as well at this moment to come to an understanding. Doubtless, too, money is of some value to you, and if that be so, and you treat my comrade and myself to favours, then, when we are released, you shall be rewarded. Say now, is that a bargain?"
The man's face lit up immediately, while he even smiled quite a pleasant smile upon them. Sour dispositioned, ill-grained, and surly—perhaps because of the work allotted to him—this man, at the bottom of his heart, was really not without his virtues. Cunning like many a Turk, avaricious, and apt to trade upon those at his mercy, he had—in spite of the order which he had just admitted he had received—namely, that he was to treat his prisoners with indulgence—in spite of that, he had looked upon them as helpless, as penniless, as likely to be only a nuisance and an encumbrance. But now Geoff's tones, the peremptory words he had uttered, and, more than all, that suggestion of a reward quite altered his intentions.
"A reward, Excellency! Then indeed I am fortunate," he told Geoff. "Let your Excellency declare what is wanted, and that which I am able to bring shall surely reach you."
"And a question," said Geoff, determined to make the most of his opportunity. "This prison, where is it situated? How far from Bagdad?"
"A day's march—not more, not less, Excellency!"
"And there are other prisoners? Others from Britain or Russia?"
The man shook his head and raised his eyes as if Geoff were encroaching upon a subject which was forbidden. Then, backing out of the door, he pulled it to after him with a clang, and went off along the passage in a different frame of mind from that in which he had entered it. As for Phil, he gave vent once more to a shrill whistle, which ended in a blast of air which came through his parted lips soundless.
"And that's the idea?" he asked slyly, pointing at the door, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the passage. "If you put a bird in a cage, and the doors are so strong that breaking through 'em is out of the question, that bird ain't necessarily deprived of a chance of getting his freedom. There's the door left, an iron affair on this occasion, and as strong as a rock from the look of it, and then there's the jailer!"
"But there's something more than the jailer no doubt!" Geoff warned him; "there'll be sentries perhaps, officials in charge of the prison, other doors, with doors beyond them."
"Which don't say that even then we shouldn't be successful," said Philip airily. "It's a chance, of course. What would they do if they caught us?"
"Depends. Perhaps shoot us, though I hardly think it's likely—your Turk doesn't indulge in frightfulness, like his German ally. It's worth the chance, Philip, and we'll risk it; but, like sensible individuals, we'll first of all find out as much as we can about local conditions. We'll rest content here for a while and plumb this jailer fellow as far as possible."
"And then we'll scrag him. Not that one wants to be violent with him," said Philip; "I'd like to treat the fellow as gently as possible. But where a man stands between you and a chance of getting freedom, well, it ain't your fault, is it? It's his, if he gets hammered."
The two were still discussing the matter earnestly, almost eagerly, when steps were heard again in the corridor outside, and the door was pushed open by the jailer, now smiling widely, and bearing a Turkish tray upon which were set coffee and food in abundance.
A week passed, during which Geoff and his chum did their best to while away the weary hours, and to ascertain something of the outside of their cell and the conditions existing in other parts of the prison. By dint of carefully probing the jailer, by flattering him and raising his hopes of a reward, they ascertained that the Governor was lying ill, and that his subordinate was often enough away from the building. There were troops there, they gathered, but how many, and where quartered, no amount of questioning would extract from the jailer; nor was it wise to ask him about the plan of the building, the position of the cell, the corridor outside, and the road which led to the gates giving access.
As to the cell itself, the first complete day had imprinted every feature of it upon their minds, till they knew every crevice, every flaw in the stone, every little hole and excrescence. They knew the exact height of those two windows which admitted air and light to their prison, and, by standing upon one another's shoulders, had contrived to look outside—only to find that both windows looked out upon a courtyard, surrounded by a wall the top of which would undoubtedly be well beyond their reach. As to the windows themselves, they were barred so heavily that to attempt to get through them was out of the question, and even were they provided with a saw or a chisel the job would still be beyond them.
"So it's got to be the jailer," grinned Philip, when the week had passed, "and, 'pon my word, I'm awfully sorry about it. Of course we must do the square thing by him; we've promised him a reward, and he must have it. Let's form our plans for gagging and tying him up safely."
There was more discussion after that, eager enough to be sure, while plans were made and unmade, every eventuality likely to occur foreseen and overcome as far as possible.
"Naturally enough, we shall not make the attempt until nightfall," said Geoff, "and, seeing that this fellow gives us a last call just about dusk, that will be the most convenient hour to nab him. Let's go over the scene for a moment. If we happen to be fairly close to the door when he enters, he won't be suspicious, for he's found us in every sort of position during the last week. A chap would get soft and out of condition if he stayed in one place in a cell like this, and it's only by walking up and down and running round that we have been able to get exercise. Exercise, by Jove! Why didn't we think of that before? We might have sent a message to the Governor of the prison asking him to allow us out of our cell for certain hours of the day, and that would have given us an idea of our surroundings."
It was strange indeed that they had not thought of that before, and, acting on the impulse of the moment, they called loudly for the jailer, and having attracted his attention sent him on a mission to the Governor.
"But no, Excellency!" he told Geoff on his return; "it is not permitted—not for the moment at any rate. You must wait. The Governor is in ill-health and out of temper, and he bade me return with a peremptory refusal. Have patience. Perhaps in a little while you will be liberated and allowed to walk on the roof, where you may enjoy the sunlight."
"Prophetic!" said Philip when the door had closed again. "In a little while we may be liberated—this evening, if possible, I think. What do you say, Geoff?"
"I'm with you," answered our hero; "let's get the gag ready for him, and arrange about his money. Funny, isn't it, that we've been able to keep what we had in our pockets? I imagine that if Germans had captured us they'd have rifled us of every coin, and we should have been paupers."
Yet, as it happened, despite their anxiety to break loose from the prison and find their way into the open, the evening passed without event, and was followed by days of waiting. Days which stretched into weeks—miserable, lonely weeks, the hours of which dragged by on leaden wheels, while the days themselves were often like a nightmare, so long did the minutes take in passing, so long were they drawn out, so utterly unending did they seem.
"But it's no use being despondent," said Geoff; "and just because the jailer seems to be on the qui vive all the time, and has not yet given us an opportunity, and, indeed, has been accompanied by another man on many occasions, we mustn't think that the plan is 'off', or even dream of giving up the undertaking. We're going to break out of this place, Philip."
"You've said that time and again," grinned the irrepressible and ever-jovial Philip, "and so have I; and, by Jingo! we will—only when? This waiting is getting a bit trying. I declare my joints are getting stiff, and if I had to run a hundred yards I'd lose the race."
Lack of exercise and of fresh air was indeed telling upon the two very greatly; for, be it remembered, they were young, enthusiastic, and open-air creatures, who, in months past, had spent the better part of their waking hours out in the free open air, under the blue sky of Mesopotamia; and when in India or in England, outside buildings whenever possible, enjoying the sunlight and the fresh breezes which played about them. And now, to be cooped up between four stone walls of this unpleasant prison, this stone vault, was depressing, to say the least of it; it was enervating, taking the colour out of their cheeks, and, in spite of their courage and their youthful enthusiasm, was tending rather to take the heart out of them.
"We shall rot if we go on like this," said Geoff desperately, when a few days had passed. "I quite believe you, Philip, for my joints, too, feel stiff and useless almost. Supposing we were to beguile the time by a little active exercise—sort of Swedish gymnastics. Eh? Why not?"
"Why not?" Philip said eagerly, grasping at the suggestion with the energy almost of a drowning man grasping at a straw. "You've taken squads in that before. Fire away, Geoff! Let's see what we make of it."
Thereafter the astonished jailer peeped in more than once on these curious white prisoners of his, to find them perhaps stretched on their backs on the stone floor of the cell, their hands clasped under their heads, and their legs, stretched stiffly in front of them, being slowly raised towards the ceiling. Or he came upon the two facing one another with absolutely solemn visages, on tiptoe, bobbing up and down in the most extraordinary fashion.
"Allah, but this is a strange sight!" he told himself on the first occasion, and looked suspiciously round the cell. "No, no! There is no sign of attempted escape—windows are barred as usual. Truly this is a strange experience. Surely these young men, no doubt nobles in their own country, have gone crazy."
He was more than dumbfounded, absolutely staggered, one day, when, entering the cell very quietly and very suddenly, he discovered Geoff standing behind his chum, gripping him firmly by the waist and slowly raising him upward, raising him till the lanky figure of Philip was lifted to a horizontal position above Geoff's head, and was slowly pushed upward to the full extent of his arms and then lowered again, only to be pushed once more into the old position; then, as the gaping jailer watched, the figure of the subaltern was brought to a vertical position and lowered ever so gently to the ground till his stockinged toes touched the stone floor of the prison. By then the man's eyes were starting out of his head, and he gripped the edge of the iron door as if to support himself.
"Allah is great!" he stuttered. "Surely Allah is great! And these white youths are the strangest of people. See now what they do! They are here in a prison cell, none too comfortable, perhaps, none too bright and cheery, yet with four peaceful walls about them, and a wooden divan on which they may without hindrance sit or lounge the day long, staring maybe at the wall, and dreaming of the past or of the future. And surely the future, in spite of such a prison, has much that is of rosy colour for such youths—youths who are but on the threshold of manhood. There is hope for them, a peaceful life to contemplate, and, within these four walls, no need to do aught else but dream, but let the hours slide away, but let others work for their existence."
That was the Turkish outlook on life—an outlook which permits a man to reach man's estate as he may do, and which enjoins on him the need thereafter to live as placid, as workless a life as he may find. Pass your Turkish bazaar, wend your way through some Turkish café, and see the individuals of that nationality seated there. Cross-legged, they rest in comfort where Britons would be seized with cramp within five minutes. Cross-legged, they rest placidly, their open eyes fixed on nothing, their thoughts barren, their minds perhaps a blank. Or they sit with one hand resting in their lap or toying with the tiny egg-shaped coffee-cup which brings them refreshment, the other hand gripping the long, braided stem of thenarghile. Then puffs of white smoke escape slowly, reluctantly, as it were, from their lips, and are gently wafted above by the breeze circling round the stalls or the café into the open air. Who knows? It may be that in the midst of those clouds your Turk sees his future, and gathers inspiration for those dreams which keep him a placid occupier of his stall or his portion of the divan in the café, holding him enthralled in lazy, idle speculation, in gentle, easy wondering, in an aimless endeavour to burst the mists of the future and discover what may be his fortune in the years to come.
For a Turk that may be good enough, sufficient exercise both for mind and body; but the fresh blood, the keen intellect, the wonderful energy of Anglo-Saxons require more movement, require some better pabulum for their thoughts—something far more stimulating—and they find it in active, open-air exercise, in the seeing of interest in all things, and in the taking of energetic steps which may bring into motion every joint, every muscle, and every fibre of their bodies. Thus what appeared to be a form of increasing mania in Geoff and Philip in the eyes of their jailer and of the man who accompanied him on occasion, who both of them stared, amazed—though they had now seen those curious actions of their two prisoners on many occasions—was no more strange and astonishing to them than were the sloth, the ease, and the aimless existence of the Turks to our two heroes.
See the result of this extraordinary mania on the part of Geoff and Philip. The hours began to glide away. The days fled as if there was some driving force behind them, and slid by at such a rate that a week was gone before they could look round, while week piled on week in rapid succession. Nor was that the only advantage obtained by these two energetic and restless prisoners. Little by little their colour came back, till they were rosy in spite of those four blank walls about them; and little by little their muscles hardened, their joints became more flexible and elastic, and their strength increased to a point at which both of them, in spite of their moderately heavy build, threatened to become young Samsons. Little did the grinning jailer realize that, whereas he might have proved an easy victim of these two, attacking him together, at the commencement of their captivity, he would now be but as a child in the arms of one; for Geoff's fingers alone had become so powerful that he could have taken the Turk by the neck and shaken the life out of him single-handed.
"I think, old boy, that the jailer won't stand a dog's chance when we get busy," he told Philip.
"And I believe you, dear chap," grinned his chum, "only——" And then Philip's face lengthened till it had attained the length of the proverbial fiddle, "only this waiting is all rot. I believe myself that that beggar of a jailer suspects us. He's been awfully decent, of course, in bringing us food and water, but, all the same, he's got it into his narrow head that we mean to tackle him on the first occasion."
It was Geoff's turn to grin—a happy grin—for the exercise had improved his digestion, and had brought him to a position where he might be said to be in the pink of health, and therefore looked on the bright side of everything.
"I believe you, dear boy," he said, repeating Philip's statement. "As to when the chance will come, well, who knows? Only we are ready."
They spent that afternoon in carefully devising a gag and ropes, which they obtained by tearing strips off the blankets which had been provided for their covering; and then counted out the sum of money which, though not very great, was likely to prove a small fortune to the jailer. In fact, they had not yet completed their preparations when steps were heard in the corridor outside and halted at the doorway.
"Ready?" asked Geoff.
Philip nodded, and, sauntering to the corner of the cell, placed himself in a position which would allow him to throw himself on the back of the jailer. Geoff crushed the gag into his trouser pocket, and stood, as he had often stood before, facing the door, waiting for it to open. The bolts were pulled back with a clang, and slowly the heavy iron frame-door was pushed open, disclosing the smiling, friendly face of the jailer at first, and then a second individual—a stout, fat, heavily-built man, dressed in the loosest of European clothing, who mopped his streaming forehead with a red silk handkerchief, who panted and grunted, who blew gusts of air out of a mouth which was out of all proportion, from between two irregular rows of yellow teeth, hidden almost entirely by a moustache, which flowed on either side of his fat cheeks, and which was stained by cigarette smoke in the middle. More than that, the man wore on his head a panama hat which shaded his features, the exact expression of which was made all the more indistinguishable by the dusk already settling in the corridor, but which could yet be seen to be more pallid, of a whiter hue, than was common to the Turkish nation. It was no Turk in fact; it was a European, and none other than a German. More than that, what German in the heart of Mesopotamia could have answered to such a description as that above delineated but von Hildemaller? Yes, it was that urbane and kindly fellow, that perspiring, panting individual, that emissary of the Kaiser who dealt ostensibly in dates, but clandestinely in political matters. It was the garrulous, the charming, and the most entertaining Herr von Hildemaller, that cunning, scheming, unscrupulous wretch who had been instrumental in obtaining the imprisonment of Joe Douglas.
No wonder that Geoff stared at this apparition as though it were a ghost, a well-grown, beefy, and extremely solid ghost to be sure, yet one which filled him with amazement. No wonder, too, that Philip, after his own particular custom and habit, pursed up his lips and allowed a low-pitched whistle of astonishment to escape him. And then it was von Hildemaller's turn. He grunted, he mopped his forehead and face more violently, and greeted the two, first with a penetrating, suspicious glance, and then with an expansive smile, which took them both in at the same moment as it were, as if he were inordinately proud to meet them.
"Ach! It is vat I haff heard—two Englishmen—hein?" he grunted, and then, turning on the jailer, exploded: "Begone, dog!" he shouted; "close der door and go to your quarters, and haff no fear dat deese prisoners will escape, for see, I am armed and prepared to hold dem."
He waited, mopping his forehead and standing just within the cell, till the jailer had departed—had crawled away in fact, showing terror of this German—then, stepping well within the cell, von Hildemaller closed the door, and once more treated Geoff and his friend to an expansive grin, which was most friendly and most inviting.
"I haff heard dat you are here," he told them, casting a glance first at one and then at the other. "I haff remember dat you are white men like myself, and not dogs like deese Turkish; and although we are at war—we Germans and you British—yet it is far from here to Germany and England; and I haff said: 'Von Hildemaller, you are not such a craven fellow, so wrapped up in Germany, that you cannot befriend deese white men. Dey are nearer to you dan to deese Turkish dogs, deese heathen.' Mein friends, let me tell you something. I haff come to offer you friendshib and liberty."
They were sheep's eyes that he was casting at the astonished Geoff and Philip, little, swift, sidelong glances, which fastened upon their faces in turn—critical and almost anxious, penetrating glances, which, swift though the glimpse was of the faces of the British subalterns, marked every feature—their open guileless expressions, the look of astonishment, of relief, in their faces, the gleam of coming friendship in their eyes.
Von Hildemaller chuckled, and all the while turned on those unsuspicious and inexperienced subalterns his own peculiar and expansive smile—that smile which had deceived so many people, that smile the friendliness of which gave rise to no room for suspicion. He chortled, and mopped his streaming forehead again with his bright-red handkerchief. He was making progress he felt sure; these two stalwart young men were taking him to their hearts already—this big, fat, ungainly German. And why not? For see what an offer had been made them! And consider by whom! By none other than von Hildemaller, a person, it seemed, unknown to either of them, though let us not forget that Geoff already had some knowledge of this individual, and Philip also. Yet—yet could these tales that had come to them be true?
"Can the fellow be a rascal really?" Geoff was asking himself; while Philip stared at the huge perspiring German amazed, troubled for one of the few occasions in his life, disconcerted, his heart fluttering with hope at the opportunity of swift liberty, his better judgment, his common sense, overcome by his eagerness to be quit of this cell and prison.
And von Hildemaller, that scheming, cunning German, ogled the two with that pair of fat eyes of his; he curled his moustache, lifting it just for a second sufficiently high to allow them to catch a glimpse of that row of tobacco-stained teeth—that row of cruel teeth which gave perhaps a better inkling of this man's real nature than any other part of his anatomy. Von Hildemaller pushed the red handkerchief into one of his bulging pockets, and then threw out the two fat palms of his hands in a manner characteristic of him. He had made an impression, he felt; he must drive the thing home; now that the thin edge of the wedge had been introduced he must drive it in firmly, securely, till he had won by his very impulsiveness, by his open friendship, the goodwill and confidence of these young fellows.
"Mein friends, mein lieber friends," he said in his most unctuous and oily manner, that expansive smile now exaggerated, his broad face shining with indulgent friendship, "though I am a German, still I loff the English; yes, how I loff them! And, mein Gott, it is fortunate that I came upon a man who told me of you, a Turkish officer who indiscreetly whispered to me of two brave British officers who haff been made captiff. And den I say: 'Von Hildemaller, you are like deese young officers'."
He stopped and panted for a moment, and once more dived for his handkerchief with which to mop his face.
Like these two young officers! As if anyone in his common senses could have compared the huge, fat, ungainly German to either of these two spruce young officers, or could have seen the smallest likeness between the broad, smiling, yet cunning face of this Teuton and the open, frank, healthy expressions of our heroes.
"Ha!" von Hildemaller grunted, catching his breath and panting still more heavily, for speaking so rapidly was rather a tax on his energies. "And I say: 'Von Hildemaller, though you are a German, you loff deese English; dey are lost, forlorn captiffs in a strange country, a country of brutes and beasts not worthy to eat their food with Europeans', and den I make one big, noble resolve. I say: 'Von Hildemaller, mein brave, kind fellow, you will go to seek deese young men, you will rescue dem, you will take dem to a place where they can be on der parole—living like white men, treated with kindness and consideration'."
Out came the red handkerchief again, and the mopping process was repeated, while, as the folds of the red handkerchief swept across his forehead and cleared the vision first of one eye and then of the other, the Teuton's deeply sunk and penetrating optics lit upon the faces of Geoff and Phil, while his lips almost trembled with joy at the thought of coming triumph.
"Dey are fools, deese British pups," he was telling himself, chortling loudly, and chuckling at his obvious success. "First I haff the Major Pasha—that Douglas Pasha, and one day I will kill him—and now I haff deese odder, deese two more British officers. Himmel! How I hate der breed, deese British, who haff come so soon between der Kaiser and his object.
"Ach! If I could, I would screw the neck of every Englishman; yes, sweep them into the desert, bury them out of sight, clear them away from the steps of all Germans."
And yet all the time his perspiring face beamed upon our two heroes, beamed, whilst his words rang in their ears—those lying words which invited them to trust to this monster, which gave them hopes of liberty, which offered them a haven where they might rest in comfort and in safety, a haven which, for all they knew, might give them complete liberty to return to their own people. Indeed, though the German had not mentioned such a thing, had not even hinted at it, yet his openness of heart, the warm friendship he expressed for them, made such a possibility not entirely out of the question. It raised hopes, hopes which, in the case of Phil, had now almost undermined his judgment, had gone dangerously far towards winning his confidence, towards making him trust von Hildemaller absolutely. For—see the cunning of this German—he did not tell our heroes a fact unknown to them. He had met a Turkish officer who had let fall some indiscreet words with reference to British prisoners. The crafty German did not tell them that that was Tewfic Pasha, who, meeting the German, and, discovering that he already had news of such prisoners, had asked him to befriend them.
Tewfic Pasha himself was ignorant of the rascally work von Hildemaller had already perpetrated in the case of Douglas Pasha, otherwise he would have been on his guard. He distrusted Germans as a general rule, but yet, from force of circumstances, was compelled to trust von Hildemaller. He had taken a huge liking for Geoff and his chum, and wished to do them a real service, but found himself helpless. Here was an intermediary, for surely the German would help—this German with the smiling, friendly countenance—and von Hildemaller had pledged himself to do so, had eagerly assented to see to the welfare of Geoff and Philip, and had gone off chuckling, scheming—smiling no longer—with a set purpose—a purpose to wreak his hatred of all Englishmen upon these helpless subalterns.
And see him there, just within the door of the prison, perspiring horribly, mopping his face constantly, panting, chuckling, smiling—the smile of a tiger as he glanced at his two victims.
And Geoff, taken aback by his entry, by his unexpected coming, deceived for a moment by his demonstrative goodwill, by his words and his offer of help and liberty, almost fell into the net that was spread so cleverly for him, almost succumbed to the wiles of this Teuton. But his better senses, second thoughts if you will, came to the rescue. He remembered von Hildemaller's evil reputation, he knew well enough what part he had taken in the capture of Joe Douglas—for had not Esbul brought the story?—and now, as he stared unflinchingly, inquisitively, searching for the reason of this visit, into the eyes of the German, he saw, right behind them as it were, behind that broad smile, the cunning hatred and craft of the man, and delight at coming triumph. Then, shifting his gaze to Philip of a sudden, he winked, grimaced at him, and slowly pulled the gag which he had thrust into his pocket into the open.
Did he intend to take this German's offer? Or did he propose some other course? And if so, what course? What action would he take?
A second later what doubts there may have been were cleared up in a manner dramatic enough for the odious von Hildemaller—stunning in its unexpectedness by swift action which swept the blood from his face, and caused those ogling eyes of his almost to start from their sockets. For Geoff called in a low voice to Philip, and, leaping at the German, threw one arm round his neck, and clapped the other hand over that cunning mouth which had smiled so widely at him.
What a picture a snapshot photographic artist could have made of that scene in the narrow cell occupied by Geoff and Philip for so many weary weeks, and into which the unctuous and scheming von Hildemaller had thrust himself so unexpectedly. A portrayal alone of the features of that huge and unwieldy German would by itself have provided a picture of consuming interest. That is to say, a portrayal of what features were left visible now that Geoff's strong muscular hand was tightly clasped across them. For above the hand there were left merely the closely-cropped head which gave the Teuton such an uncouth appearance, a forehead broad enough to give the impression of brain-power, a pair of eyes, deepset enough as a rule, and sparkling with suppressed humour if it happened to be a stranger who looked into them, with suppressed cunning if the observer knew the man, eyes now projecting in a hideous manner over the strong fingers which gripped below. And below those eyes a stubby nose, from which burst gusts of air as von Hildemaller grunted his astonishment. Underneath the hand, there was left just an edge of the somewhat square and determined chin possessed by this extraordinary individual. As for the rest of him—the huge body, the arms, the legs—all were in motion, writhing, kicking, plunging, striking out and tearing at the captor who gripped him so firmly.
"The gag!" Geoff called softly to Philip, who, appreciating the situation in an instant, had leapt from his position near the door to assist his comrade; "it's in my left hand. Jam it into his mouth as I force it open."
In a moment Philip had the gag, and, standing by, made ready to introduce it.
"Supposing he shouts though?" he asked.
"He won't," said Geoff abruptly. "When he opens his jaws it'll be with a jump, for I'll squeeze him. Ready?"
There was an emphatic nod from Philip, while the gay features of the young subaltern were again smiling jovially; he was grinning indeed, a grin of pure delight and triumph. Then those powerful fingers of our hero sought the interval on one cheek between the upper and the lower jaw, while his thumb sought the similar spot on the other cheek. A second later he pressed fingers and thumbs together and shot the German's mouth wide open, displaying a huge cavity out of which not a sound could come, for even if the grip on his jaw had not incapacitated von Hildemaller, the grip which Geoff's left arm now had round his bulky chest, the crushing power with which he compressed it, had driven all the breath out of the Teuton's body.
"In she goes, pop!" gurgled Philip, thrusting the gag in between that double row of yellow teeth. "Now we bind her!"
Quick as a flash he ran the strings from the edge of the gag out through the corners of the open mouth, and bound them tightly behind the German's neck. He needed no further instruction from his chum, seeing that the two had discussed the matter so very often, had discussed it, let us remember, not in connection with the tricing up of a visitor—a visitor so unexpected as von Hildemaller—but in connection with their Turkish jailer.
"Somehow I'd have been sorry for him," Philip murmured, as he seized the blanket-ropes already prepared, and tied von Hildemaller's wrists behind his back.
"What, this beggar?"
"No, no! I was thinking of the jailer. I'd have been somehow sorry for him, for he's been such a decent fellow, such a friendly beggar," corrected Philip. "But this chap! Jingo, ain't it jolly!"
He set about the completion of the job in a manner which showed his delight almost better than words could do, and in a trice had von Hildemaller's wrists most scientifically tied together, and his elbows pulled so close that movement of his upper limbs was out of the question. Then, at a nod from Geoff, these two powerful young fellows gripped the heavy German and lifted him, as if he were a babe, to the wooden divan. It took, perhaps, another two minutes to secure his legs and ankles, and to leave him like a helpless bundle.
"And now?" asked Philip, mopping his forehead, for the work had been furious while it lasted.
"We move!" declared Geoff promptly. "It's getting dusk already, and it's quite dark in this cell. Though, 'pon my word, von Hildemaller's eyes pierce the dusk like gimlets. My word! If only he were free and could do his worst for us! Now let's put the money we promised the Turk on this table, and then go. No time like the present."
They were indeed in the position of being unable to choose the time for the attempt to regain their liberty. In any case they were bound to seize the first opportunity that came, to seize it whenever it came, regardless of the hour or of the circumstances. But the coming of von Hildemaller had forced their hand in a manner neither had anticipated. He had, as it were, complicated their difficulties; for, now that he was secured, trussed like a bird, and laid out helpless, there was still the Turkish jailer to be considered—the man they had proposed to capture, the man who, once shut up in the cell, gagged and triced just as was von Hildemaller, would be out of the way, unlikely to run up against them in the corridor outside, unable to give the alarm and let others know that they were escaping.
"Can't be helped, the change in our plans," said Geoff, as he took another look at the German; "just squint outside, Phil, and tell me whether there's anyone in the corridor. If not, we'll pull off our boots and make our way along it in stockinged feet. Of course, if the jailer turns up, well, we'll have to be guided by circumstances."
In any case there was no time for discussion, no opportunity for making further or other plans, nothing to do but seize the opportunity, strike while the iron was hot, and free themselves from this prison. To strip off their boots and tuck them into their belts was the work of a moment, and then, unarmed but strong as lions—thanks to their own forethought and energy—they tiptoed into the corridor outside and stole rapidly along it, having gently pulled the iron door of their cell to upon the German. Some twenty paces along they found themselves at the head of a short flight of stone steps, and were quickly at the bottom. A turn to the left took them along another corridor, and then both suddenly halted.
"Voices—men talking—the jailer."
Philip nodded.
"The jailer and that fellow who often visited us with him. They're in that room to the left, the door of which is ajar, and the sooner we pass it the better."
Stealing forward again they were soon opposite a massive iron door, similar to the one which had closed their cell, and, halting for a moment, listened to the conversation of the two men within it. Listened long enough to assure themselves that they were right, and that within the cell their jailer and his friend were certainly seated. Then they moved on again, and, traversing a long corridor and turning to their right, found themselves in a different part of the prison. They had reached, in fact, an entrance-hall, as it were, out of which a heavy, barred door led, probably to the open.
"Locked and barred," said Geoff, inspecting it rapidly and as well as the dusk would allow; "no way out for us there, I think. Now, what happens?"
"S—sh! Someone coming," whispered Phil, "someone coming down the stairs, I think. From the sounds he is making he is coming towards us."
For a moment or two they stared in the direction from which the noise of feet descending the stairway had come to them, and then looked desperately about them, for not even the dusk in that big entrance-hall would prevent them from being discovered once an individual was within some yards of them. What were they to do? Bolt back towards the cell they had so recently vacated? Stand still and chance discovery and recognition? Or advance and throw themselves upon the individual who was approaching? Geoff threw out a hand and caught Philip by the sleeve, pulling him towards his left, towards the door which he had been so recently examining, pulled him in fact into the angle the door made with the heavy stone pillar which supported it. No one in his wildest thoughts could have described it as a safe hiding-place, no one in fact in similar circumstances would have willingly entrusted his chances of liberty to it, or would have leapt at the scanty security it barely offered. Yet it was a chance, a chance in a hundred, the only chance the occasion could produce, the only spot possible for Geoff and Philip. And there together they crouched against the stone pillar, wishing that the dusk might grow rapidly deeper, and that some friendly shadow would cast itself about them and hide them from the eyes of the intruder.
Those seconds which followed were long-drawn-out, agonizing seconds, seconds during which the slow, plodding, heavy footsteps which they had heard descending the stairway drew nearer, and nearer, and nearer. Then a figure came into view, a figure but dimly illuminated, which, reaching the centre of the hall, came to a halt, while the man—for undoubtedly it was a man—peered about him inquisitively, as if seeking for something, as if he too had heard sounds, sounds which had roused his curiosity and perhaps his suspicion. It gave the two young subalterns hiding in that shady corner quite an unpleasant start, sent quite a chill through their frames when they first cast their eyes on that figure.
"Von Hildemaller!" said Geoff under his breath, speaking to himself in fact. "Now, how——?"
Philip moved and nudged his comrade.
"That beast," Geoff heard him whisper; "he's got out somehow! But how? I——"
"S—sh! It's not. It's a Turk, awfully like him," Geoff whispered back, putting his lips close to Philip's ear. "Not a word more or he may hear us."
True enough, the figure dallying in the centre of the hall was indeed almost a facsimile of that of the ponderous von Hildemaller. Of moderate height and thickset, his feet encased in Turkish slippers, the man's general appearance was alarmingly like that of the German, while, dimly to be seen through the dusk now settling deeper about the hall, were the ends of a pair of moustaches quite as fierce and flowing as those proudly flaunted by the German. Only the head was different, for it was bald, and perched on the back of it was a fez. Evidently, too, if this new-comer had had his suspicions roused, if he had actually heard sounds as he descended the stairs, he had now brushed the matter aside and was prepared to treat it as a delusion, as something easily explainable; for he moved on again, crossing the stone-flagged hall with heavy steps, and passing out into the dusk beyond, in the direction from which Geoff and Philip were escaping. It was then that Geoff mopped his forehead with what was left of a somewhat dilapidated and dirty handkerchief, while Philip allowed a breath of astonishment to escape his lips in a subdued whistle.
"Jingo!" he exclaimed; "that's a near one!"
"The Governor!" Geoff said. "The Governor, I'm sure. Ponderous and filled with dignity, a regular second von Hildemaller. But come along, we've no time to wait. Let's move on up the stairs and see what sort of a place the fellow came from."
Still in their stockinged feet, with their boots tucked in between their belts and their bodies, the two crossed the hall and ran lightly up a stone staircase. Turning abruptly as the stairs twisted upward, they presently reached a doorway where their further progress was barred by a door, framed in iron like that which had shut the opening from their cell, every feature of which they had studied so completely.
"Bah!" exclaimed Philip in disgust. "Trapped inside the place."
"Don't let's shout till we're hurt," said Geoff resolutely. "Perhaps it isn't locked; we'll try it; here's the latch. Hallo! It opens!"
"And we go through, as a matter of course. Wonder what the Governor'd say if he knew that his two prisoners were about to investigate his quarters?"
More stairs faced them, but a short flight, the top of which they reached in a few moments, to find themselves in a wider corridor from which three or four doors gave access to rooms, the first of which was spacious and airy, and lit by windows which looked down into a central courtyard. The second was airy, like the first—even larger—with divans spread here and there, and a carpeted floor, while its windows, like those of the other room, had a similar outlook. A hasty inspection of the third showed it to be a sleeping apartment, while the fourth provided, without doubt, the quarters for the Governor's servant.
"And the windows? Let's take a squint out of them," said Geoff as he crossed the room rapidly towards them. "Beast of a drop, eh?"
"But possible if one had a rope," said Philip, pushing his head out of the open window and imbibing the first breath of fresh air for some weeks past. "Bedding's what we want, and food. There was some in that big room with the divans."
For a while they stood peering out of the window and measuring the distance between it and the ground below—a drop of quite fifty feet, but a drop the bottom of which provided open country, a drop which, if it could be accomplished, would give them liberty and would set them outside the prison.
"Stop a minute!" said Geoff suddenly, as a thought struck him. "There doesn't seem to be another entrance to these quarters, and, seeing that we are in occupation for the moment, and can't afford to be disturbed, why, we'll lock the Governor out. Let's get back to the door at once and see if it's possible."
The very suggestion set the amiable Philip grinning; the cheek of such an action delighted him intensely, and was just the sort of thing that jovial subaltern could appreciate fully. He was out in the corridor in a moment, and, running along it in his stockinged feet, soon reached the door beyond. Then Geoff heard him shoot a couple of bolts, and watched as he came smiling back towards him.
"Case reversed," grinned Philip, as if he were making an official report. "Prisoners, a little while before, locked into a cell, are now prisoners no longer, but have locked their jailers out. And next, sir? What about that food?"
It was Geoff's turn to smile, for he too had caught sight of a dish of fruit in the Governor's sitting-room, of some Turkish sweet-cakes, and of a carafe, probably containing water. Better still, the aroma of coffee tickled his nostrils as he entered the room occupied by the Governor's servants, at the door of which he was now standing. A swift glance showed him a Turkish brazier, a kettle of Turkish design above it, from the opening of which steam issued. He dived into the room again and sniffed at that steam, sniffed and smacked his lips with appreciation.
"Coffee, my boy! All ready!" he said. "But don't let's do things in too great a hurry; let's look round first for something with which to make a rope. We shall be sorry, of course, to inconvenience the Governor, or to damage his property, but the cushions over those divans, if cut into strips and twisted, would do the trick splendidly; while, if they ain't strong enough, there are carpets and rugs which must be sacrificed for the purpose."
"And cushions enough to drop from the window and break a fall in case we have to jump for it," laughed Philip. "Let's bring the grub along here, and the cushions and what not, then we shall be ready in case the alarm is raised; for, once there is a hue and cry, sentries, no doubt, will be posted outside the building, and long before that we ought to be away from it."
It was tantalizing to have to leave that steaming odoriferous coffee, but undoubtedly the question of safety came first, now that liberty lay within their grasp. The two resolutely put all other thoughts aside, and rapidly made their preparations to accomplish their object. Magnificently embroidered cushions decked the divans in the Governor's sitting-room. There were rugs, too, which were perhaps of priceless value—Turkish rugs which, it may be, had been manufactured years before, and would have commanded in London or any European city a fabulous sum, far beyond the somewhat shallow depths of a subaltern's pocket.
"Sorry! Frightfully!" Philip grinned, as he deliberately slit one of the cushion-covers—a cushion, by the way, not of ordinary dimensions, but some seven feet in length and as many broad; a regular mattress, indeed, upon which, no doubt, the bulky Governor was wont to recline during his moments of leisure. It may have been the act of a vandal to destroy such a handsome covering, and at any other time, no doubt, Philip would have hesitated, for he was not such a scamp that he would deliberately destroy goods of such value and elegance.
"But it's our liberty or the Governor's goods," he grinned a little sheepishly at Geoff, as he dug the blade of his knife in again and sent the stuff ripping.
Nor was his comrade behindhand in the work, and already had stripped another of the enormous cushions. Perhaps it took them ten minutes, perhaps even longer, to construct from the strips of strong material a twisted rope made up of a number of lengths firmly knotted together, knots which they tested by a form of tug-of-war, dragging at opposite ends of their rope to be sure that it would provide a safe means of descent to the bottom of their prison. Then, lashing one end fast to the stone window-post, and coiling the other end in preparation, they went once more to the Governor's room, and staggered back again carrying a number of those huge cushions.
"And now for coffee and something to eat!" said Geoff. "What we can't finish now of the fruit and cakes we'll carry with us. Better still, as we're not particularly hungry at the moment, supposing we drink the coffee, which will take only a few moments, and finish the other when we have secured our liberty."
They had poured out two steaming cups of coffee, and were sniffing the contents with delight, when a sudden shout, a clamour in some portion of the prison, caused them to arrest the progress of the cups to their lips and listen. There were more shouts, a howl from some distant quarter, and then a loud hammering. As if determined not to be upset by any sort of commotion, and not to be robbed of a golden opportunity—for such coffee as this now underneath their noses had not been tasted by our two heroes during the long weeks of their captivity—Geoff resolutely raised his cup to his lips and drained the contents, smacking his lips afterwards in a manner not perhaps too polite, but very indicative of his feelings. Philip followed suit, and, gripping the kettle, replenished both cups, as if determined that he too would not be hurried. Then, setting the empty cups down beside the stove, they left the room, and, darting along the passage, peered out of the windows which gave access to the courtyard.
There were men down below—Turkish soldiers—some fully dressed and some in their shirt-sleeves. They were running hither and thither as though confused, and as though ignorant of the cause of the alarm which had just been given. Then, as Geoff and Philip looked, a door to their right at the foot of the courtyard was suddenly torn open, and a figure rolled rather than ran out, a man who tripped on the lowest step and fell face downward, only to bound to his feet again and rush off till he was in amongst the soldiers. Undoubtedly there was something behind him which was accelerating his progress, and which had made his entrance into the courtyard anything but dignified, abrupt, in fact, startlingly sudden and unexpected. It was something which appeared within a moment, someone who dashed after the unfortunate jailer, a fat man, wearing a fez at the back of his head—undoubtedly the Turkish governor—followed by another of similar proportions, broad and stout and beefy, with closely cropped head, a man who shouted and hurled threats through the doorway.
"Von Hildemaller!" gasped Geoff. "Someone's discovered him, someone's set him free! Perhaps it was the jailer."
"Or perhaps the Governor," Philip added. "He must have known that von Hildemaller was coming to see us; he must have given him permission. That's it, and when he came down the steps to the hall he was on the way to see what had happened. Lor'! what a shock he must have had when he discovered our German friend tied up like a bundle, and the two prisoners usually in that cell disappeared, gone entirely."
For a few moments the two watched the Governor and the German as they raged amongst the soldiers in the courtyard. Catching the unfortunate jailer, they beat him with their fists unmercifully, and no doubt, had one of them possessed a weapon, or had they thought to borrow a rifle from one of the soldiers, they would have shot him. Instead, they vented their fury on the man by beating him, and when he fell to the ground, so as to escape their blows, they kicked him in the most furious manner. As one can imagine, too, their anger, the shouts to which they gave vent, the sudden apparition of the jailer and his two tormentors, did not tend to lessen the agitation and perplexity of the Turkish soldiers. Even now, nothing had been said by which they could gather precisely what had happened, for there had been no mention of the two British prisoners, of their escape, and of the curious position in which von Hildemaller had been discovered. Breathless, and not a little fearful, they watched the scene going on in their midst, waiting for some word which would clear up the situation; and suddenly it came, when von Hildemaller and the Governor were breathless after their exertions, were satisfied with the blows and kicks they had rained on the jailer. It was the Governor, in fact, who suddenly recollected that his first business should have been to seek for the prisoners, for the jailer was always there, and could be punished on some future occasion. He suddenly swung round upon the startled soldiers and bawled orders at them.
"The prisoners," he bellowed, "the two British prisoners; they have escaped, I tell you! You numskulls, why have you not guessed it? Ah, but perhaps you are in collusion with this wretched jailer! Search the prison! Search every part of it! Be off with you! Give me a rifle, so that I may go to my quarters and there watch for these young ruffians. Come, von Hildemaller," he said, gripping the sleeve of the perspiring German, "to my quarters. From there every part of this courtyard and of the ground outside is visible. If we clamber to the roof there is none who may leave the place without our seeing him. Snatch a rifle from one of these fools and come with me. Then, should the prisoners elect to leave whilst we are watching, you will be able to put in a shot which will punish them for what has happened."
"Time to be going," Geoff told Phil, and his chum agreed with an emphatic nod which showed his willingness.
"Then out with the rope. It's lighter here than it seemed to be in the courtyard; but no matter, we've got to make the best of it, and, I can tell you, it will want quite a lot to stop us."
"It will!" the enthusiastic Phil admitted, with one of his happy, encouraging smiles. "You may take it from me, my boy, it ain't going to be von Hildemaller—or whatever's his name—or any Turk that's going to lag me this time if I can help it. There goes the rope and another cushion. Jingo! They've landed splendidly, and I believe if this old rope lets us down, and breaks of a sudden, we should land quite comfortably at the bottom. Who goes first—you?"
"Either. I don't mind. Out you go—you're nearest."
Phil made no bones about the matter, and wasted no time and no breath in attempting to argue the question. He was on the window-sill in a moment, and, swinging himself out, gripped the rope, and with splendid youthful assurance at once trusted his life to it. Geoff watched him slithering down, stopping every few feet as his hands and feet came into contact with the knots they had made, till at last he was at the bottom.
Meanwhile the shouts and noise about the prison had increased in proportion if anything, while sounds, echoed by the stone, vault-like walls of the place and the large corridors, came even to the Governor's quarters. Steps could be heard on the stairs which led to the door—now firmly bolted—and the panting of at least two individuals. Then blows were rained upon it, and voices shouted to those within to open. The Turkish governor—for undoubtedly it was he, with von Hildemaller at his elbow—jerked angry threats through the keyhole, and bellowed loud orders to his servants to admit him. And had Geoff been able to watch the scene he would have observed the worthy von Hildemaller leaning against the stone door-post, his face a purplish colour, his nose shining, his eyes, still prominent, flashing angrily and indicating the temper and hatred which consumed him, while his wide lips were set apart, the moustache—that moustache so disagreeably stained with the smoke of cigarettes—was distinctly bristling, and the teeth were set in a snarl which, had the Turkish governor had time to take note of it, would perhaps have scared him considerably. For the rest, the German was out of breath, utterly unnerved by what had happened, positively shaking in every limb, perspiring more heavily than he had ever done before, and spasmodically dabbing at his face with his red handkerchief.
"Open, fools, dolts, wretches!" shouted the Governor, and then turned despairingly to the German.
"What—what next?" demanded von Hildemaller fiercely, panting half-way through the sentence.
"There's something wrong. I cannot make these dolts of servants of mine hear me. The place is locked, and yet I left the door unlatched when I came down to visit you but a few moments ago. The thing is inexplicable."
If the Turkish governor found the matter hard of understanding and difficult to explain, the wily, cunning von Hildemaller rapidly saw to the bottom of it. A man such as he, gifted with a scheming brain, was just the one to realize that prisoners interned in such a place and escaped from their cell were yet not at large nor at liberty. This was just the reckless sort of thing that those British subalterns would do. It was like their effrontery to usurp the place of the Governor himself and secrete themselves in his quarters.
"Bah!" he yelped in the face of the Turk. "Then your servants are not the only dolts and fools that I know of. Can you not see that the door has been locked from within—or rather bolted? You are shut out of your own quarters, and by whom? By whom, tell me? By none other than those two whom we are seeking. Break the door open! Beat it in! Call for men to bring hammers!"
It was indeed time for Geoff to be moving, for if the Governor and his companion were making a considerable din outside that door, shouts were coming from other parts of the prison. Those of the soldiers who had not entirely lost their heads, or who had not absolutely been bereft of their better senses by the violence of the Governor and the German, were now making a complete search of the place, while some of them were at that moment dragging the outside door of the prison open. Geoff clambered through the window, gripped the knotted rope, and began to slide rapidly downwards. Yet he was not to reach the ground without a further, if only a small, adventure; for that improvised rope, strained as it had been by supporting Philip's weight, succumbed to that of our hero. It parted at one of the knots a foot above his head and some thirty from the ground, and a moment later Geoff found himself plunging on to one of those cushions which they had so thoughtfully dropped to provide against such an occasion. There Philip gripped him and steadied him, helping him to his feet.
"What now?" he asked.
"Round to the back of the prison. I heard some of the beggars pulling the front door open. Thank goodness, it's getting darker every second, and if we can only hide for some five or ten minutes we shall be safe for to-night at least. Lor'! Look at the fruit I had in my pocket—smashed to a pulp."
Philip shook him, and then the two turned away from the scene of their escape and ran softly along beside the wall of the prison. Gaining the farther end, they turned a corner, and then, at a suggestion from Geoff, Philip ran on to the opposite corner. Thus they were able to watch two sides of the prison, and could warn one another if an enemy were approaching. Fortune favoured them, favoured those two young fellows who had so cleverly achieved their escape, and the darkness, settling down over the country, safely hid them from view, while the noise of the searchers within and without the prison subsided.
"And now?" asked Philip, when it was quite certain that they were not likely to be apprehended.
"Oh——! 'Now,' well, that wants some deciding."
Geoff scratched his dishevelled head of hair and pondered, for indeed the matter was one which would have taxed the wisdom of an older man—even the cunning of von Hildemaller. For they were out in the open, free of their cell it was true, but yet in an enemy country, surrounded by Turks, without a friend to appeal to. Yet what they had done so far gave them encouragement for the future.
"We'll have to be like that Mr. Micawber of Dickens," said Phil, as they crouched beside the wall, "we'll just have to wait for something to turn up, and you bet your boots something's bound to."
Free from prison, after an adventure the success of which might well stimulate them to greater effort, to greater daring, and give them hopes beyond any they had possessed during the weary weeks of waiting which had passed, it was yet not by any means certain that Geoff Keith and his chum Philip would ever win their way back to that Expeditionary Force with which they had landed in Mesopotamia. It was weeks and weeks, and it seemed to them years, since they had been captured with Esbul at Nasiriyeh; and though their jailer had not been entirely uncommunicative—for at heart he was quite a genial fellow, and the thought of reward warmed his heart wonderfully—yet they had failed to hear of the easy, bloodless capture of Amara. Indeed, all tidings of the Mesopotamian invading force had ceased; and whether it had retired, whether it still hung on to the banks of the River Tigris, what its fortunes were now, were withheld from them.
"If we don't get out soon there won't be an Englishman left in the whole of Mesopotamia," Philip grumbled one day during their long and tedious imprisonment, when he was perhaps a trifle bilious, and feeling out of sorts and out of temper. "Everything's wrong".
And Geoff had grinned at him, an irritating grin, which had roused the irate Philip to a state of anger which set him stuttering, and which caused him to clench those powerful fists of his—made powerful by the exercises he and Geoff practised. But just as suddenly as his cheeks had flamed with anger, just as quickly as he had allowed natural vexation and irritation to get the better of him, Philip's better sense, his honest heart, his real affection for his chum, caused him suddenly to beam upon him.
"I'm in a rotten humour," he told him, "just the sort of humour in which a fellow grumbles, asks 'What's the good of anything?' and grouses 'Nuffin'."
"I've felt the same often enough," Geoff told him, "and I dare say you've known it, and have seen what a nasty sulky beast I could be. You see, fellows chained up like this, close together in a cell, get to know all there is that's worth knowing about a chap—all the good side, you know."
"And a precious deal of the bad side too," grinned Philip. "Trust a campaign to show up a man from every point of view. People say that aboard-ship life is the most trying of existences; but I imagine that one of those Arctic Expeditions of ours, when a hundred men, perhaps, are bottled up in winter quarters for months together, must try officers and men to the last extremity, must prove their good feelings and temper, and must bring them back to safety comrades for life—friends who will never be forgotten."
Doubtless the fact of hearing nothing of the Expeditionary Force did try the nerves and the temper of the two prisoners in their cell extremely. Yet what mattered such a trial now? Now that they were out of their prison; now that they had dropped from the window of the Governor's quarters; now that they had worsted that odious fellow, von Hildemaller—that mass of perspiring flesh and fat, that ogling, cunning, scheming German?
"Jingo!" Philip kept on repeating, as he and Geoff crouched by the wall, and then let go a chuckle. "To think that we've done that von what's his name—Hilde something—"
"Maller," grunted Geoff, sniffing his contempt of the fellow. "And now?"
"That's what I keep asking, now?"
"Well, we've the whole of Mesopotamia," Geoff told him a little politely, a little icily in fact.
"Right oh! Then all we've got to do is to choose some spot in it. Of course one naturally selects a part now occupied by our fellows."
Naturally enough that was the choice which any British officer or man would have made under similar circumstances. But where was the Expeditionary Force which had sailed from India, and which had fought its way by now into the heart of Mesopotamia? Unbeknown to these two young subalterns, it had driven a path up the banks of the River Tigris towards Kut-el-Amara—some hundred and fifty miles above Amara itself—and well on the road to Bagdad—the Mesopotamian Mecca, a city, almost a holy city in the eyes of the Arabs of that part, to which their eyes were attracted far more than to Constantinople. Driven from Nasiriyeh, from Basra, from every place down-stream on the banks of the Shatt-el-Arab, of the Tigris and of the Euphrates, the Turks, nevertheless, had not abandoned Mesopotamia. They were in strong-force at Kut, in prepared positions, engineered, sketched, and arranged by German instructors. And there, to be precise, some seven miles to the east of Kut, the enemy took up his position astride the River Tigris, extending his trenches to some six miles from the left bank of the river. Yet, in spite of those deep-dug trenches which gave such security from shell-fire, in spite of wired entanglements which might have aroused the envy of Germans in Flanders and Poland, notwithstanding preparations made without haste and hurry, and over a country which gave wonderful assistance, the enemy was defeated.
The same dash, the same almost reckless bravery of the British and Indians, the same natural, friendly rivalry between those two races of soldiers, sent them forward against the Turkish trenches like an avalanche, caused them to turn the position, and rapidly effected the capture of Kut-el-Amara. Not only that, it effected at the same moment the capture of the northern end of the Kut-el-Hai, that watercourse running roughly north and south between the Tigris and the Euphrates Rivers, and which, unknown to the British, had permitted the Turks to reinforce their post at Nasiriyeh, and collect that army at Shaiba, which had threatened the rear of the Expeditionary Force when in the neighbourhood of Kurnah. It may be said, indeed, that the Expeditionary Force had now captured a solid wedge of Mesopotamia, a wedge of land with its base pointing towards Bagdad, its lines of communication open—for the Tigris allowed of shipping reaching the British force at Kut as easily and almost as safely as that shipping had been able to reach Kurnah. For the Tigris was still deep and wide, though not entirely free of sand-banks. As to the size of this wedge—Nasiriyeh was secured, Ahwaz, the head of the Persian pipe-line, was in our hands, and there remained Bagdad alone—a jewel which must have strongly tempted the British Commanders. An expedition to that city, its capture in fact, would no doubt result in the crash of Turkish influence in Mesopotamia, would win over thousands of Arabs now wavering and prepared to join the side which looked like winning, and would inevitably destroy all German influence.
For many reasons then Bagdad was a magnet, a magnet which drew the Expeditionary Force onward. And in the heat of summer, even as Geoff and Philip were making that adventurous escape, British and Indians were once more on the move from Kuten routefor Bagdad, hoping to capture the city. Whether such an expedition were justified, whether the risks of an advance along the River Tigris to the city of Bagdad were out of proportion to the advantages to be gained, and whether those in command were fully informed as to the strength of Turkish troops before them, one cannot venture an opinion, seeing that at this date little information has been published, little indeed more than the fact that such an advance took place, and its sequel.
If, however, actual news of our troops in Mesopotamia at this time is meagre, and if a cloud covers their operations and leaves us in doubt as to what has actually happened, we have yet left to us news of Geoff and Philip, and of others who participate in this story. There is, for instance, the stout, perspiring, and odious von Hildemaller. Boiling with rage, perspiring indescribably, he leant against that door outside the quarters of the Turkish governor, mopping his face perpetually with that red handkerchief, while he gripped the rifle he had seized from one of the Turkish soldiers, and glared from it towards the Governor.
"And—and—you are fooling me," he shouted at last, when he had got his breath; for that dash into the courtyard, the blows he had levelled at the unfortunate jailer, and his race from thence to the hall of the prison and up those stairs had left him gasping. "What means this?" he demanded. "You give me free entry into a cell in which these brutes are imprisoned; you—you—allow them to set upon me, to tie me hand and foot, to gag me, and now—now—you bring me here to be faced with a door that is barred and bolted, when you should have taken me to some other place from which I could have shot down those ruffians."
Of a truth, the Teuton was positively boiling over with wrath, indignation, and disappointment. Never before, in a somewhat long life, devoted in these latter years to crafty plotting, had von Hildemaller been so worsted. Like every other man, he had had his ups and downs to be sure, his failures and his successes; but of late, since the "All Highest", since the Kaiser had set his ambitious eye on Turkey, had ogled the Sultan, brow-beaten his particular adherents, and had gained the ear of the Young Turk Party, since, in fact, the influence of the Germans and of Germany had risen to such heights in Turkey, von Hildemaller had become quite an important person, one to be considered, an agent of the Kaiser to whom no doors were shut, who claimed entry anywhere and on any occasion. Yet here, when he had thought to succeed so easily, when he had planned to add these two British subalterns to that Douglas Pasha—then in prison—why, see here, the door was banged in his face, the tables had been turned most distinctly upon him, and all his plans had been shattered.
"I—it is monstrous!" he shouted, using the native tongue but indifferently, his words bearing a strong Teutonic accent. "Are you, too, in the plot? Did you then plan for them to seize me? I—I——"
The poor fellow was stuttering more than ever, his flabby cheeks were positively shaking, while his whole person was quivering. It looked almost as if he would have thrown himself upon the Governor, that other stout man staring back at him now in frightened manner. No doubt, too, had von Hildemaller had breath sufficient for the task, he would have vented his wrath upon the Turk promptly. But, as it was, he cast the rifle on the stone steps and sent it clattering down into the hall below. Then, wobbling badly, his knees shaking after such unusual exertion, perspiring still in horrible fashion, and displaying that particularly close-cropped pate, he went off after the rifle, stumbling down the steps and into the hall, and from there out into the open. It was almost dark then, and for a while he stood still, blowing heavily, and enjoying the evening breeze as it played about his heated features. Then he gave vent to a faint and somewhat subdued whistle, and repeated it a moment later. A figure slid up from some dark corner and stood beside him.
"Master," he said, "you whistled."
"Whistled? Yes, twice, and you were not there at the first summons," snarled von Hildemaller, delighted to have someone else upon whom he could turn his wrath and vexation. "How now? Where are these prisoners? You saw them escape from the place? You followed them, eh?"
"Prisoners?" said the man, startled, stepping back a pace or two, so that a gleam of light, flashing through the open door of the prison from a lantern which had now been lighted, fell upon him. "Prisoners? But——"
"But—prisoners, fool!" the German retorted, eyeing the man severely as he stood in the lamp-light. "You did not follow them then; you allowed them to escape without troubling?"
His tones were even more angry as he watched the man; while those beams of light, as they fell upon the German's companion, showed the features of that same rascal who had answered his signal in the Bazaar at Bagdad at that time when Major Joe Douglas had accosted von Hildemaller. Without a shade of doubt, indeed, this Turk was the ruffian who was in the hire of the German, who was ready to carry out any piece of villainy for him. Esbul knew it; that old Jew whom Douglas Pasha had questioned in the Bazaar at Bagdad knew it too; while the cautious yet seemingly unsuspicious Douglas Pasha knew it better, knew it so well that he had made that hurried departure from Bagdad, knew it better still now, seeing that it was thanks to this rascal, and the German, that he lay in prison.