Weleft Sub-lieutenant Tom Webb and the whaler's crew in the act of being rescued by a destroyer flying the Italian ensign. The vessel was theBersagliere, a 28-knot boat armed with four twelve-pounders.
It was not sheer luck that brought it to the rescue of the Sub and his companions. The liner that had passed them in the night was not so callous as they had supposed. Although she dared not stop to investigate the cause of the shouting, fearing the presence of a hostile submarine, she had sent out a wireless message in the International Code, reporting on the circumstance, giving the approximate position, and suggesting the possibility of a U-boat.
The call was picked up by several patrolling war-ships, amongst them theBersagliere. The latter being nearest to the position indicated, set off at full speed, and cleared for action in the event of meeting with a U-boat which had resorted to the device of using a decoy.
The Italian destroyer's people were unremitting in their attentions to what they supposed to be the sole survivors of a British naval craft. Not one of either officers or crew could understand English, nor could Webb and his men speak a word of Italian, and the Sub's endeavour to indicate by means of signs that the rest of the survivors were cast ashore on the Tripolitan coast, and were in dire peril from the Senussi, was fruitless.
The commanding officer of theBersaglieredid his best, but, unfortunately, with somewhat disconcerting results. He wirelessed in International Code the news that he had on board the sole survivors of the British war-shipPortchester Castle. The message was picked up and decoded by several vessels, and also the naval receiving station at Malta, and within a very short time of the rescue of the whaler's crew the inaccurate news was transmitted to the Admiralty.
Webb and his comrades were, of course, ignorant of this stage of the proceedings. They knew, however, that they were being taken in a nor'westerly direction by the destroyer—farther and farther away from the scene of the unequal conflict ashore. Instead of bringing aid to the hard-pressed Captain M'Bride and his handful of undaunted men, they were being spirited away to an unknown destination—possibly Castellamare or some other distant Italian naval port.
"'Spose these Eytalians thinks as 'ow they are doin' their level best," remarked one man to his "raggie". "Strikes me we're being bloomin' well kidnapped. Look 'ere, Ginger; you can 'andle a pencil. Just you draw a sort o' sketch of our chaps ashore, an' put a few niggers in. That might do the trick."
Ginger pondered. The trouble was to get pencil and paper. The rest was simple, for he had a strong reputation amongst his lower-deck mates as an artist.
The difficulty was overcome by boldly commandeering a pad and pencil from theBersagliere'ssignalman, somewhat to the surprise of the good-natured Italian; then, surrounded by interested spectators of both the Allied navies, Ginger proceeded with his task.
"'Ere we are," he explained. "Them's the sand-dunes; 'ere's the skipper, Number One, an' Lootenant Osborne. This is the zayreber; them's the enemy. That orter do the trick, didn't it, mates?"
"'Spose so," admitted one of the whaler's men rather dubiously. "A little smoke chucked in would improve the picture, I'll allow."
The artist reluctantly admitted the force of the criticism, and proceeded to depict far more vapour than modern engagements with smokeless powder justified. Then, stepping up to one of theBersagliere'sofficers, he tendered his handiwork.
The Italian took the drawing and examined it intently and sympathetically. He was obviously puzzled for some minutes. Then a smile lit up his olivine features, and he spoke a few words to one of his men.
"Guess he's off to explain to the skipper of this packet," declared Ginger's pal. "I knowed that 'ud do the trick."
But instead of making his way to the bridge the Italian seaman went below. The British tars regarded each other with feelings akin to consternation, nor was their surprise any the less when the man reappeared with a dish containing a "plum duff" liberally provided with currants.
The artistic idol of thePortchester Castle'sship's company was shattered.
"Arter all," decided the coxswain, "'tain't to be wondered at, Ginger. Those sand-dunes of yourn do look like the outlines of a 'spotted Dick', smoke an' all; but I guess the owner wouldn't be pleased to find he'd been mistaken for a bloomin' currant."
Almost immediately afterwards attention was directed in another direction, for a vessel was sighted on the starboard bow. In a few moments, for both craft were moving rapidly, the stranger was found to be the British destroyerParadox.
An exchange of signals followed. TheParadoxhad been one of the vessels that had received theBersagliere'swireless message, and it was with the intention of taking over the survivors of thePortchester Castlethat she had made towards the Italian destroyer.
Once more Sub-lieutenant Webb trod the decks of a craft flying the white ensign; while the two destroyers, dipping their flags by way of a courteous international salute, proceeded on different courses theBersagliere"holding on", while to her commander's astonishment he saw the British craft circle to port, and steam off at full speed in a south-easterly direction, instead of returning to her base at Suda Bay.
Webb had lost no time in explaining to the Lieutenant of theParadoxthat Captain M'Bride and a considerable number of men were at bay on the Tripolitan coast; while to his surprise the Sub learnt of the inaccurate wireless message from theBersaglierereporting the whaler's crew as sole survivors of the ill-fatedPortchester Castle.
"We'll be in time yet, I think," remarked the commanding officer of theParadox. "You reckoned to fetch Crete in an open boat and yet be able to summon assistance. We've saved you at least twenty-four hours. Yes, I'll see that a wireless correcting the previous inaccurate report is sent off; but I think I'll wait till we've seen this business through."
Upon approaching the coast Webb could distinctly hear the rattle of musketry. That was a good sign. It told him that Captain M'Bride and his men were still holding out.
At twenty-five knots theParadoxwas soon within range of her twelve-pounders. In the slanting rays of the setting sun the dense masses of the Senussi could be distinctly made out. It was a target that could not well be missed.
Six rounds were sufficient. The Lieutenant-commander, standing on the destroyer's bridge, thrust his binoculars into their case with an emphatic snap.
"Good enough!" he exclaimed. "Cease fire—out boats!"
Bringing theParadoxto a standstill close to the almost submerged wreck of thePortchester Castle, and keeping between the latter and the shore—a precaution necessary should hostile submarines be in the vicinity—her skipper lost no time in taking off the survivors of the torpedoed armed merchant-cruiser. Yet before the evacuation of the zariba was accomplished night had fallen.
"I thought you would not fail us, Mr. Webb," was Captain M'Bride's greeting as he came over the side. "You've been very quick over the business. How did you fare when the wind piped up?"
"Sheer good luck, sir," replied the Sub modestly. "We were picked up by an Italian destroyer and afterwards transferred to theParadox."
The skipper of thePortchester Castlekept his young officer engaged in conversation for some time, during which Webb's eyes were periodically turned in the direction of the returning boats. Yes, thank God! there was Osborne, apparently safe and sound; Dacres too, and Major Fane; most of the ship's officers whom Webb had left behind when he made his dash in the whaler.
At length his Captain dismissed him, and went below to enjoy the hospitality of the diminutive ward-room. Webb made his way across to where Osborne was standing.
"Hallo, old bird—back again, you see!" was the Lieutenant's greeting, informal, but none the less hearty.
"Where's Haynes?" enquired Webb, after returning his chum's salutation. "I've been looking out for him, but all the boats have returned."
"You're a bright lad not to spot your chums," rejoined Osborne. "He was one of the first to be brought off. He got it badly almost at the last lap—a gunshot wound in the side. Donovon's got him in hand now. 'Fraid Haynes' career in the Service is a closed book."
"Sorry to hear that," said the Sub. "I only hope you're wrong, Osborne."
"Wouldn't be the first time," admitted the Lieutenant. "I made a fine mess of things ashore just now." And he told his chum the episode of the Very pistol.
"Do you know where we are bound for?" he continued.
"Port Said—so I heard the Navigating Lieutenant of theParadoxsay," replied Webb. "I was hoping that it was Malta; still, one mustn't complain after what we've been through. Not that we'll find Egypt particularly exciting just for the present. From all accounts there's precious little doing."
But Sub-lieutenant Webb was mistaken in his surmise. Before very long he was to find that the Land of the Pharaohs was anything but a place for an uneventful existence.
"Donkey,sah? Good donkey, sah? Me good dragoman. Talk Englis' like Englisman, sah. Me good——"
"Oh, chuck it, do!" exclaimed Osborne. "No can do; savee?"
It was on the outskirts of Alexandria. Osborne and Webb, already "bored stiff" with the doubtful charms of the sun-baked Egyptian seaport, were longing to be afloat once more. Up to the present their wishes in that direction had not been gratified. In common with the rest of the surviving officers and crew of the lostPortchester Castle, they were resting, first at Port Said and then at Alexandria, pending Admiralty instructions and appointment to another ship.
Early on this particular afternoon the two chums had gone for a walk beyond the limits of the town. It was a glorious chance to tramp on a broiling hot day, in a place where almost everyone rides, and then only when it is necessary to be out and about. It was the time of siesta, or midday rest, but the superabundant energies of the two young officers were not to be denied. Both carried revolvers—a precaution rendered necessary by the existing conditions of the Egyptian frontiers.
Barely had they drawn clear of the squalid native quarter when they were assailed by the demonstrative attention of a swarm of 'Gippy donkey-boys, whose natural cupidity overcame their curiosity at the sight of two Englishmen braving the scorching heat of the sun.
By dint of very forcible language, backed by a pretence of forcible methods, Osborne had succeeded in freeing himself and his companion from the undesired attentions of the mob, with one exception. The latter, a tall, sparely built fellah, hung on like a leech.
"Tomb of Ctesos, sah," he vociferated. "Not far. Far to walk, but not far for donkey, sah. Twen'-fivee piastres" (up went the fingers of his right hand five times to emphasize the point) "all de way. Dirty cheap, sah."
Osborne hesitated and was lost.
"Tomb of Ctesos?" he repeated. "H'm, I've heard of it. Sort of ruined pyramid, I believe, Tom. Well, it's something definite to do. How about it?"
"I'm on," replied Webb. "Figuratively, of course. When it comes to the back of a donkey it may be a different matter."
"The brutes look quiet enough," resumed Osborne, eyeing the three sorry-looking donkeys, who were continually flicking their ears in a vain attempt to rid themselves of the tormenting attentions of a swarm of flies. "All right," he added, addressing the donkey-boy. "Twenty-five piastres, mind!"
The 'Gippy extended a grimy, sunburned hand. "On de nail," he exclaimed, making use of one of many English idioms that he had picked up in the course of his dealings with tourists in pre-war days, and with British and Australian troops since the outbreak of hostilities.
The officers smiled. The words, coming from the lips of a dark-skinned Egyptian, tickled them. The fellow's eyes looked so pathetic and trustful that Osborne obligingly paid for the hire of the animals.
Evidently the guide was not going to exert himself by walking. Throwing himself upon the back of the third donkey he urged the brutes into a steady trot, yelling the while in a jargon of English and Arabic, and belabouring the animals with a stick.
"Avast there!" said Osborne authoritatively. "Stop it! Not so much of the stick business. They'll go just as well without."
The "boy"—he was a man of between twenty-five and thirty—obeyed, but only for a time. Ere long he began to thrash the animals again.
"For the second time, stop it!" thundered the Lieutenant.
The donkey-driver muttered something under his breath. A momentary scowl flashed across his olivine features. If looks could kill, Osborne would have been stretched lifeless in the desert.
On and on the donkeys went, sometimes trotting, at others plodding stolidly through the sand; for already the cotton-fields had been left behind, and nothing but the desert could now be seen, bounded on the right hand by the intricate swamps of Lake Mareotis. Before they had gone five miles, both the officers discovered, to their great discomfort, that their mounts possessed very aggressive backbones, the pain from the sharp edges of which the meagre native saddle did little to mitigate.
"How much farther?" enquired Webb.
"Not far," was the 'Gippy's non-committal reply.
"Hanged if I don't think the rascal is taking us past the place," declared Osborne, indicating a solidly constructed building on the left, at a distance of about three-quarters of a mile.
The donkey-boy saw the gesture.
"No, sah, no," he expostulated earnestly. "Him no good. Nothing dere; empty. Tomb of Ctesos, sah, him be right dere."
"Dash the tomb of Ctesos!" declared Osborne. "It's not good enough. Look here, Ali Babi; we've chucked the idea. We'll have a look at this place instead. We may find shelter from the sun, and get back in the cool of the evening."
The suggestion did not at all meet with the native's approval. Obviously he had strong reasons against falling in with the proposal.
"Evidently our dusky dragoman considers this to be a breach of contract," observed Webb.
"Can't imagine why," rejoined Osborne. "If what he says is correct with reference to the direction of this precious tomb, we're saving his animals a considerable distance. He who pays the piper calls the tune, you know; so let's be firm."
Accordingly, the two officers turned the donkeys in the direction of the ruined building that Osborne had indicated. With ill-concealed sullenness the Egyptian slowed down, riding at twenty paces in the rear of the chums.
Suddenly he gave vent to a shrill cry. Instantly the animals that Osborne and Webb were bestriding came to a dead standstill; then, keeping their forefeet planted firmly in the ground, they lashed out furiously with their hind legs.
In vain Webb attempted to keep his saddle. Describing an inelegant curve he alighted on his head in the sand. Fortunately the softness of the ground deadened the impact; but, feeling considerably shaken, he regained his feet to find Osborne sitting regarding him ruefully. As for the donkeys, they were skeltering off more quickly than they had done before in the course of that afternoon, while the 'Gippy, still astride his mount, jeered at his employers until he was out of ear-shot.
"The fellow's got his own back," admitted Osborne, laughing at his own discomfiture. "And we paid him beforehand, worse luck! No matter! we'll carry on now we're about it, and inspect this ruined show. If we start at four o'clock we ought to be back before sunset, and it won't be so oppressively hot to pad the hoof."
"We're taking a long time to cover this half-mile," remarked Webb, when after a steady tramp the ruins seemed no nearer. "Suppose it isn't a mirage, what?"
"Hope not," replied Osborne. Then he had to admit that the real distance had been diminished by the vagaries of the atmosphere. Although the tomb, or whatever it might be, was a real object, it had seemed to be less than three-quarters of a mile away when Osborne first noticed it. Actually it was four times that distance.
At last they approached the elusive building. It consisted of a rectangular central edifice with a few smaller buildings attached. The roof was originally a dome, but the greater portion had fallen in. Fronting the main portion was a row of weather-worn pillars of red sandstone, ground smooth by the action of the sand-storms of centuries. In places the portico still remained, but was evidently in a very insecure state.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Webb, who with true scouting instinct had been examining the ground. "Look here; someone has been here recently. We're just converging upon the track of a couple of men and a led camel."
"Yes," agreed Osborne, "and Europeans, too; or at any rate not barefooted felaheen or sandalled Arabs. Well, I suppose they have a perfect right to come here, as much as we have—perhaps more if they have fixed up their abode in this desirable suburban residence."
"There's the camel," said the Sub, indicating the humped animal which, hobbled in characteristic Arab fashion, was standing in the shade of a partly shattered wall. "No signs of the owners. We'll have to be careful, old man. We don't want to intrude upon these fellows if they are engaged in their devotions. If they are Mohammedans they are bound to be pretty sensitive as far as the presence of unbelievers is concerned."
For the last hundred yards the two chums maintained silence. Their footfalls made no sound on the soft sand. At the lofty entrance they paused. The dense shadows, in contrast to the powerful slanting rays of the sun, made it impossible to see what was within the place until their eyes grew accustomed to the violent transition from the glare to a deep gloom.
Suddenly Webb grasped his companion's arm.
"Hist!" he whispered.
His trained ear had caught the faint cackle of a wireless apparatus.
For some moments the chums stood motionless. The sounds came from an apartment either built in the thick walls or else in a raised outbuilding. Presently the message ended, and the two men began to engage in conversation, speaking in Arabic—a language of which both Webb and Osborne knew but a few words, acquired during their brief stay in Port Said and Alexandria.
Both officers drew their revolvers. Clearly this was a time for action. The ruins were not a Government telegraphic post. Since the Western Egyptian Frontier campaign that ended in the defeat of the somewhat formidable Senussi rising, a quantity of wireless gear, known to have been smuggled ashore with other warlike stores for the use of the enemy, had been unaccounted for. So thorough had been the methods adopted by the Turks and their German taskmasters, that even the nomad Arabs of the Tripolitan hinterland had been instructed in the use of the most modern form of telegraphy.
When sufficiently accustomed to the gloom, Osborne advanced cautiously, Webb following at his heels. Guided by the sounds of conversation they crossed the floor, where the dust of years lay ankle-deep, until they came to a flight of stone steps, flanked on either side by gigantic stone images representing two grotesque Egyptian divinities, seated with their hands resting on their knees and their orbless eyes staring blankly. So smooth were the carvings that they might have been chiselled yesterday, instead of several centuries before the Christian era.
Up the flight of stairs the two officers crept. The illicit operators, still engaged in an animated conversation, were unaware of their presence until with a bound Osborne entered a small room on a level with the roof of the portico, and covered them with his revolver.
Even as he did so he recognized one of the men as Georgeos Hymettus, the Greek spy, who in the disguise of Alfonzo y Guzman Perez had furnished the U-boat officers with information concerning the movements of shipping at Gibraltar, and who had so nearly been laid by the heels by Osborne and Webb during their adventurous trip to Algeciras.
"The world is small, my festive Hymettus," observed Osborne suavely. "Now, kindly put your hands up and give no trouble."
Findinghimself covered by Webb's pistol, the Greek's companion promptly extended both arms above his head as a token of surrender.
The fellow was attired in characteristic Bedouin dress. His face was of a deep olivine, his features being partly concealed by a heavy black beard and by the front of his burnous. In the folds of his voluminous sash were thrust an automatic pistol, and a couple of knives of Arab manufacture protected by sheaths of undressed leather.
"Take charge of that gentleman's armoury, old man," said Osborne. "It seems most discourteous to deprive such a meek and mild old buffer of his playthings, but needs must!"
Webb complied, dexterously removing the knives; but, just as he was taking possession of the pistol, the latter slipped from his grasp and clattered on the stone floor. With a deafening report one of the cartridges exploded.
In a trice the wily Hymettus saw his chance and took it. With a swift sideward movement he interposed the body of the Arab between himself and the muzzle of Osborne's revolver; then turning, he dashed for a narrow doorway with the Lieutenant in pursuit.
"About turn; off you go!" ordered Webb, unconsciously addressing his prisoner in English. "No hanky-panky tricks, mind, or I'll shoot!"
He pointed to the opening through which the Greek and Osborne had vanished. The Arab obeyed, still keeping his hands above his head.
The doorway opened upon the flat roof of the portico. Without was an expanse of stone slabs, roughly fifty feet by ten. In front and on one side a parapet of about thirty inches in height afforded protection from a sheer drop of thirty feet to the ground. On the remaining side no such wall existed, owing to the partial collapse of the masonry. Where the portico had fallen, the face of the building was pitted with holes, caused by the wrenching away of the dovetailed stones. Each aperture formed a convenient foothold, and from this hazardous path to safety Hymettus ran. Could he but make his precarious way along the sheer face of the wall, comparative safety awaited him, for beyond was a place where one man could defy a hundred unless his assailants were provided with ladders.
But at the brink of the riven masonry the Greek paused irresolute. The sheer drop had more terrors than the weapon of his pursuer. Before he could finally make up his mind, Osborne, laying aside his revolver, gripped him by the neck and laid him on his back.
Hymettus made no attempt at resistance, but the Lieutenant, mindful of the previous encounter on Spanish territory, was taking no further chances. With a sailor's deftness he bound the spy's arms behind his back, and secured his ankles with a length of leather belt that enabled the prisoner to make a stride of a bare eighteen inches.
"That's all serene," remarked Osborne with a tone of relief, as he regained his feet and took possession of his revolver once more. "Now, old man, we've a good ten miles to tramp, with two villainous rascals for company."
"How about the camel?" enquired Webb.
"I haven't overlooked the fact," rejoined the Lieutenant. "It's not much use to us as a mode of conveyance. After our meteor-like flight from the backs of those donkeys, I don't fancy an aerial perch on a ship of the desert. Humanitarian reasons won't permit us to leave the beast to die of starvation in this sand-blown spot. We'll make the Greek ride, and that white-livered Arab will conduct the brute. If they attempt to sheer off—well, that's where our revolvers will come in handy."
"And the wireless gear?" asked the Sub.
"Let it stop as evidence. The Royal Engineers will see to that to-morrow. Now, best foot for'ard: it's a long, long way to Alexandria."
To his unbounded relief Osborne convoyed the prisoners into the open. He was unfeignedly glad to get clear of the frowning walls of the ruined building, with its labyrinth of side passages and weird nooks and crannies.
"Now then, don't lag," said Webb sharply, addressing the Arab, who seemed loath to keep up with his fellow-prisoner.
The man shot a curious glance at his captor and stood stock-still.
"No, you don't," continued Webb, giving the prisoner a sturdy shove. "We mean business, my bearded friend. Thank goodness I have a pistol in my hand and you haven't. I wouldn't trust you with a halfpenny."
Thus urged, the Arab resumed his pace, until they came to the spot where the camel was hobbled.
"I suppose the Greek hasn't any weapons concealed about him?" enquired Webb.
"Trust me for that," was the Lieutenant's reply. "I passed my hands over his carcass right enough. Now then, Ben Hazi Notion, or whatever your tally happens to be, bear a hand and hoist this rascal up."
The Arab spoke a few words to the camel. The animal immediately crouched on the ground.
"I say, this condemned nigger understands English," declared Osborne. "He knew exactly what I said. Now, how far is it to Alexandria?" he asked, addressing the Bedouin.
But the latter's face wore a mask of imperturbability. When the question was repeated, he rolled his eyes and raised his hands with a gesture of utter incomprehensibility.
"He must have guessed what I meant," commented Osborne as he signed to the Arab to make the camel regain its feet.
Progress was tediously slow. The camel would not be hurried, while the two Englishmen found that the sand was growing more and more fatiguing to their feet as mile after mile was covered in the still hot sunshine.
The Arab trudged stolidly, holding the gaily coloured head-rope of the ship of the desert. At intervals the Greek would give furtive glances around the horizon, as if he expected help to be forthcoming from some quarter of the trackless desert.
By the time the weary officers reached the outskirts of the cotton-fields the sun was low in the west, and the lengthening shadows betokened the fact that soon it would be night. A few of the felaheen peasants, still toiling, paused in their work to contemplate the unusual spectacle of a couple of Englishmen trudging at the tail end of a camel, while a Greek—there were many such in Alexandria —rode, seemingly in indolent ease, upon the animal's back.
Ahead, silhouetted against the sky, could be discerned the lofty lighthouse of Ras - el - Tin, dominating the slender minarets, and the masts of the shipping in the harbour. Just then the still air was rent by the shrill blast of a bugle. The sound was taken up in other parts of the town, while, as if to emphasize the contrast,'twixt East and West, the voices of the muezzins calling the Faithful to prayer could be faintly distinguished amidst the warlike notes of the bugles.
image: 05_progress.jpg
image: 05_progress.jpg
[Illustration: "PROGRESS WAS TEDIOUSLY SLOW"]
[Illustration: "PROGRESS WAS TEDIOUSLY SLOW"]
"I won't be sorry to have a jolly good meal and a rest," remarked Osborne. "We'll have to be sharp if we are to get in before sunset. With two slippery customers like these, our work will be cut out to prevent them giving us the slip."
"It's only that Greek rascal that worries me," said Webb. "The other fellow doesn't seem to have the courage of a worm, the sagacity of a bat, or the energy of a snail. Hallo, here's a squad of 'Gippy troops!"
Marching at the quick step affected by the native African troops, the white-clad soldiers drew near, all but the leading files enveloped in clouds of dust. At their head were two British officers in white tropical uniforms, and wearing the scarlet tarboosh of the Egyptian Government service.
Seeing the two naval men approach with their bound prisoners, the officer in command ordered the troops to halt.
"Hallo, what game has he been up to?" enquired the Major, indicating the secured Hymettus. "Trying to rob you, and caught a Tartar, eh?"
Briefly Osborne explained the situation, adding that he would be greatly obliged if the prisoners could be handed over to the custody of the military until the Lieutenant could report the facts to the Senior Naval Officer.
"Certainly," was the reply. "I'll furnish a subaltern's guard. Mr. Fordyce!"
"Sir!" replied an alert, bronzed Second-lieutenant.
"These two men are to be marched back under escort. See that they are placed in the guard-room. You will be responsible for their safe custody."
At an order from a tall, smiling-faced, native sergeant, who appeared to take a delight in having a rascally Greek in his charge, Georgeos Hymettus descended from his lofty perch. Surrounded by men with fixed bayonets he was hurried off to a distance of fifty yards, while other soldiers took up their position around the Arab prisoner.
The latter, now that his companion in misfortune was out of ear-shot, addressed a few rapid sentences in Arabic to the British Major. Then, to Osborne's and Webb's astonishment, the officer drew them aside, at the same time halting the escort and signing to the Arab to follow.
"The courage of a worm, the sagacity of a bat, the energy of a snail, by Jove! Gentlemen, I begin to feel particularly cheap."
Osborne stood stock-still, dumb with amazement. Webb, hardly able to realize the situation, looked at the speaker with ill-disguised astonishment. The utter surprise of being reminded of his own words, by a man who appeared to be a genuine Bedouin, literally took the wind out of his sails.
"Thanks for a very pleasant afternoon!" continued the disguised prisoner. "It is indeed most unfortunate that your misplaced zeal prompted you to raid friend Georgeos's secret wireless station. I've been on his track for weeks. I may as well introduce myself as Major Ferriter, of the Intelligence Staff. If necessary, my friend Major Scott here will guarantee mybona fides."
"For weeks?" echoed Osborne. "Then why didn't you nab the spy before? He must have been doing tons of mischief."
"Not so much as you have done by chipping in," replied Major Ferriter. "Unwittingly, of course, but none the less unfortunate. I assume that what I tell you will be treated in strict confidence. For nearly two months the authorities have been aware of the Greek spy's activities. He was shadowed from Barcelona to Athens, and thence to Port Said. I was instructed to keep in touch with him, and as luck would have it I succeeded. In this disguise I completely hoodwinked him; lived with him; assisted him at his work of espionage—only I took care to transmit the messages sent by wireless from the German U-boats to the Eastern Mediterranean myself. It paid the Government handsomely to let the fellow pursue his activities. It enabled us to account for nearly a dozen hostile submarines, and now you've put the hat on it all."
"Couldn't you arrange to escape with the spy?" enquired Osborne, almost panic-stricken at the result of his unintentional blunder.
"Might," replied Major Ferriter. "Only Hymettus might smell a rat and slip away to some more congenial atmosphere. I must think it over. Now, Scott, I think you had better hand me over to the tender mercies of your men. I must keep up the disguise a little longer, but for goodness' sake, old man, see that I am smuggled out as soon as it is safe to do so. After weeks of existence upon dates, pilau, and goats' milk, I pine for the flesh-pots of civilization."
Osborne and his chum waited until the supposed Bedouin prisoner was marched off under escort; then, bidding the infantry Major farewell, they set off in the gathering darkness, to their quarters.
For some minutes they spoke not a word; but when at length the Lieutenant broke the silence, his remark was brief, forcible, and to the point:
"My word, old bird; what a proper lash up!"
Forthe next few days the chums heard nothing more of the spy and his disguised tracker, nor did they deem it wise to make enquiries. It was not until the end of the week that news circulated rapidly through the native quarter to the effect that a Greek and an Arab, arrested by order of the Kafir authorities, had broken out of their place of detention. Europeans "not in the know" heard the same story. Vaguely they wondered how such an escape could be effected, in the face of the strict measures taken for the safe custody of malefactors and criminals. And when Osborne and Webb were told of the incident they glanced at each other in a way that denoted that they were not at all surprised.
"We'll hear more about Georgeos Hymettus," declared Webb.
One morning orders were received for the surviving members of the ill-fatedPortchester Castle'sship's company to hold themselves in readiness for embarkation on the transportSinai, which was about to sail for Malta.
Dacres and Major Fane had already bidden farewell to their former companions in peril. They had left a few days after theParadoxarrived at Port Said—the former for England, the Major, with his leave cancelled at his own request, to resume duty with a Soudanese battalion somewhere in the vicinity of Khartoum.
"Looks like getting into harness again," remarked the Sub on hearing the news. "Well, I, for one, am not sorry. Things are a bit slow out here, in spite of our little encounter with the spy. And I'm afraid we didn't shine over that."
"A common failing with fellows who take on the amateur-detective business," commented Osborne, who was never reticent in owning up to the errors for which he was responsible. "However, that's over and done with," he added cheerfully. "A little bird whispered to me that we're to be sent to the Grecian Archipelago. From all accounts there's going to be trouble with the so-called Royalist section of the Greek nation. The rotten way in which these fellows are carrying on is enough to make any self-respecting Greek of ancient history literally squirm in his grave. There's only one thing, in my opinion, that prevents Tino's army from marching northwards from Athens, and taking the Allied forces at Salonika in the rear."
"And what's that?" enquired Webb.
"The Navy—the British and French fleets," replied the Lieutenant. "With Athens and Corinth under the guns of the fleet, and a stern reminder that 'He who is not for us is against us', the double-dealing Tino will have to tread warily."
Early on the following day the depleted ship's company of thePortchester Castleboarded the vessel that was to take them to Malta. Under her quarter-deck awnings Osborne and Webb were pacing up and down, looking, without any qualms of regret, at the sun-baked town and port of Alexandria.
At that moment a small coasting steamer, flying the Greek mercantile ensign, fussily slipped from the quay-side and steamed seawards.
"She's bound for Crete with stores for the Venezelists," remarked Osborne. "I saw her departure mentioned in yesterday's orders."
The Lieutenant was right, up to a certain point. Had he known exactly the nature of the vessel's cargo, he might have evinced far greater interest in her; for, stowed away in the dark and ill-ventilated fore-hold, was the spy Hymettus.
On his escape from prison—a feat rendered comparatively easy by the connivance of the authorities—he decided that the wireless business was far too risky—at least for the present. He had also developed a sense of distrust against his supposed Arab accomplice, notwithstanding the active aid given him by the latter in shaking off the bonds of captivity. He had, therefore, succeeded in giving Major Ferriter the slip, and, by his intimate knowledge of the native quarter of Alexandria, had been able to secrete himself until arrangements were made for him to stow himself away on board the Greek tramp.
TheSinai'srun from Alexandria to Valetta was brief and uneventful. There was not even a false alarm of the appearance of a U-boat's periscopes. For the present, at least, German submarines had been effectually "warned off" the Egyptian coast; yet, as there was likely to be a fresh outburst on the part of these modern pirates, the authorities were strenuous in their efforts to anticipate the next display of maritime frightfulness.
"By Jove, what luck!" ejaculated Osborne soon after theSinaihad moored to a buoy in the Grand Harbour. "I've got a command, Webb, my boy. They've given me 0916."
"Good luck, old man!" replied Webb heartily; then with a tinge of regret: "I suppose it means that we won't see much of each other in future."
"Wrong again, my festive," said Osborne. "You've been appointed to the same packet."
"That's good," declared the Sub. "Any idea what she's like?"
"Yes; a Yankee-built, sixty-footer motor-patrol boat. You know the type well enough: V-sectioned with flush deck, and a small chart-house and steering platform for'ard. She's a flier, from all accounts. Goes twenty-six knots with her three eight-cylindered 160-horse-power motors. She carries two officers and a crew of six."
"Sounds promising," remarked Webb. "Wonder where our cruising ground will be?"
"In and around the Archipelago," replied the Lieutenant. "Part of our duties is, I believe, to dance attendance upon the sea-plane carrier,Fleetwing. She's a stranger to me, but I dare say we'll both make her acquaintance before very long. Well, buck up, and get ashore. Here's a tender coming alongside. We've quite enough to do before Monday."
With the commissioning of 0916, Osborne for the first time assumed full responsibility as the skipper of a command. Used, since his entry into the Merchant Service, to the huge bulk of a steamer, he might have found the quick, lively motion of the sixty-footer decidedly awkward, had it not been for his previous experiences on board an eight-ton yacht. Nevertheless the handling of a twenty-six knotter, especially in a crowded harbour, required considerable skill combined with a steady nerve.
"It's the first few hours that count," confided the Lieutenant to his subordinate and chum Webb, as the patrol-boat prepared to cast off for a preliminary run into the open water of the Mediterranean. "I remember a chief officer in the Royal British and Pacific—a fellow with forty years' experience. His Company gave him command of one of their tugs—a sort of comfortable home billet to fill in the rest of his time. Hang it if he didn't run full tilt into a caisson the very first trip, battered the face of the caisson like an old tin can, and buckled the bows of the tug till they resembled a concertina! That little bust-up cost the Company a cool ten thousand pounds."
Fully equipped with stores, provisions, and munitions, and carrying six hundred gallons of petrol, No. 0916 stole cautiously towards the mouth of the harbour. Not until St. Elmo Point was broad on the port quarter did Osborne give the order for full speed ahead.
With a jerk the powerfully engined craft leapt forward. It gave Webb the sensation of being on a lift that had been started too suddenly. With the spray flying in silvery cascades on either side of her knife-like bow, the patrol-boat cut through the water at a dizzy speed, yet docile to the touch of the helmsman's hand.
Suddenly a nerve-racking jar shook the frail craft. Her starboard propeller was still running normally, tending to thrust her head to port, while the port propeller, having struck some wreckage, had been "brought up", stopping the motor almost dead.
"Fouled something, by Jove!" ejaculated Osborne. "Be sharp there, Wilkins. See if there's anything round the blades. Hope to goodness they're not 'stripped'."
"No fear of that, sir," replied the man addressed. "The blades have held, or the motor would have started to race. I see it, sir," he added, as he leant over the broad transome and peered into the limpid water. "It's a length of rotten grass rope round the boss as tight as a chunk of metal."
The Lieutenant also surveyed the cause of the mishap. Round and round the port propeller, and "laid" as evenly as rope round a drum, was a length of two-inch grass line. About twenty feet of this still trailed astern, terminating in a piece of painted wood.
"Some boat's old mooring broken adrift," commented Osborne. "Horrible nuisance, to say the least of it."
"We can run back with the starboard engine, and get the dockyard divers to clear it," observed Webb. "Fortunately we're not so very far off."
"Beastly ignominious," objected the Lieutenant. "Crawling home like a lame duck on one's trial trip. It seems to me that if we go easy astern, both engines, the reverse action will unwind the rope."
"But——" began Webb.
"I'll try it, at all events," decided Osborne, without waiting to hear his chum's objection. "Easy astern!"
With the motors well throttled down and the two clutches slipped in as easily as possible, No. 0916 gathered sternway; but, before the propeller had made fifty revolutions, the starboard engine was stopped by a steady yet irresistible strain. Ten seconds later the port propeller, momentarily freed from the rope, fouled the obstruction and wound it round the shaft in the opposite direction.
Osborne had omitted to take into account the trailing length of rope, and now the patrol-boat was helpless, drifting at the mercy of the winds.
Attempts to turn the heavy fly-wheels round by hand proved unavailing, so firmly were the propeller shafts held in the vice-like grip.
"I'll strip and dive in, sir," volunteered the intrepid Wilkins. "Maybe I'll be able to tease the ends clear."
"No, I think not, Wilkins," replied the youthful skipper, giving a glance at the fairly lifting waves. "You'll get your head stove in if you attempt to try conclusions with her quarter. It's humiliating, but we'll have to send out a wireless for assistance."
The patrol-boat was now drifting broadside on towards the shore, the nearest points of which were distant about a mile and a half. Between these, a deep bay that contracted with comparative regularity could be discerned. To the nor'west the greater part of the island of Gozo opened clear of the smaller island of Comino.
A cast with the lead gave fifteen fathoms. For the present there was no need to anchor. With safety the disabled craft could approach until the depth shoaled to five fathoms.
"No immediate danger so long as the ground tackle holds," declared Osborne. "There's a fair amount of wind, and a decent sea, but they'll send out a vessel to tow us back in less than an hour, I fancy."
Webb, too, thanked his lucky stars that the weather conditions were moderate. He found himself picturing a huge unwieldy vessel, with her gaping seams held together with ropes, drifting helplessly towards that self-same shore, notwithstanding the ineffectual drag of four anchors cast from the stern. For No. 0916 was off the mouth of St. Paul's Bay, the reputed scene of the Apostle's shipwreck upon the "island which is called Melita".
Webb's reveries were interrupted by the sight of a huge grey shape coming into view round a projecting cliff. The shape gradually resolved itself into a large transport, outward bound for the Near East, and making for Valettaen route.
"Pretty rotten pickle!" ejaculated Osborne savagely. "Here we are as helpless as a log, and in full view of those fellows."
"I don't suppose they'll notice us," said Webb. "We're lying close in. I say," he added, laying down his position-finder, "we're drifting pretty rapidly; isn't it about time we dropped the hook?"
"Yes," assented the Lieutenant. "We'll anchor at once. All clear for'ard?"
"All clear, sir."
With a plash the mass of metal disappeared beneath the waves, taking with it nearly forty fathoms of chain before Osborne gave the order to check the cable. No. 0916, no longer drifting broadside to wind and waves, rode jerkily at the end of the length of chain.
By this time the transport was in full view at a distance of one-and-a-half sea miles, and was slowing down in order to prevent damage to the shore by her bow wave.
"Periscopes on the port bow, sir!" shouted one of the patrol-boat's crew, indicating with his outstretched arm a couple of objects that looked like a pair of short sticks, at a distance of less than a hundred yards.
Osborne realized the situation in the twinkling of an eye. The U-boat, for such she undoubtedly was, had been lying in wait for passing vessels worthy of her attention. It was a piece of the greatest audacity on her part to attempt to operate within a mile of the island of Malta; but, hearing nothing of the nature of a propeller churning the water in her immediate vicinity, she had come to the conclusion that it was safe to display the tips of her periscopes. And now, within easy torpedo range, was a large vessel packed with troops and munitions.
Osborne gave the word to open fire. In spite of the "lively" platform, the gun-layer of the for'ard quick-firer was equal to the occasion. In a trice a gleaming cylinder disappeared into the open breech-block of the gun. The metallic clang, denoting that the breech-block had been closed, had hardly sounded when the weapon barked.
The eyes of all on the patrol-boat were fixed on the target—the two pole-like periscopes that were now almost in line as the submerged boat swung round so as to bring her torpedo-tubes to bear upon her intended victim.
A column of water thrown fifty feet in the air hid the gun-layer's objective from them. A cloud of smoke denoted, however, that the shell had struck something offering more resistance than water, while, in addition, there was no ricochet.
What happened to the U-boat was never known. Whether she sank like a stone, or was able to crawl blindly for some sheltering lair, remained a secret; but the transport passed on her way unmolested.
Three hours later, No. 0916 was safely berthed in Valetta harbour. Here the fouled rope was removed and slight defects made good.
"After all," remarked 'Webb, "perhaps it was a jolly good thing that we did get into that little jamboree. It was a fairly exciting trial trip, eh, what?"