On Land and Sea at the Dardanelles Part 23

'This is a rum go,' he said in great astonishment. 'What's it mean? Who is the Johnny with the fat tummy and the bloodshot eyes? Why was he so quiet with you? What--?'

'Steady, old man!' cut in Ken. 'One question at a time. Didn't you hear his name?'

'What--Henkel? Yes.'

He broke off with a gasp.

'You don't mean to say he is the sweep that tried to swindle your father out of his coal mine?'

'You've hit it, Roy--hit it in once. That's the very same chap, though I never knew before that he was a colonel. He recognised me as soon as I spotted him.'

'But what's his game?' demanded Roy. 'I should have thought he would have been only too pleased to get you shot out of hand. If your father is dead, you're next heir to the coal.'

'I'm not very clear what he is after,' Ken answered in a puzzled voice.

'But it's something to do with our property, you may be sure of that. This much I do know--that Henkel was awfully in debt when I last saw him. And I know this, too--that our friend, old Othman Pacha, who is Bey in that part of the country, would refuse to let the property pa.s.s without proper t.i.tle deeds.'

'Then it's clear as mud,' said Roy quickly. 'Henkel wants to get the deeds out of you.'

'That may be it. But anyhow I'm not of age. I couldn't sign anything.'

'Don't, anyhow,' said Roy. 'He can't do worse than shoot us.'

But Ken looked very grave. Inwardly, he was thinking that, if Henkel did actually mean to make terms, he had no right to sacrifice Roy's life as well as his own.

At this moment the corporal came in with a platter of food and a pitcher of water. He planked them down without a word, and went out again.

'No use starving ourselves,' said Roy with his usual cheeriness. 'It's a case of "let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die."'

His pluck was wonderful, and they set to as well as their manacled hands permitted, on the coa.r.s.e barley-meal bread and goats' milk cheese. They had had nothing since their 'emergency' breakfast and they finished the food to the last crumb.

'That's better,' said Roy. 'Now I'm ready for anything.' As he spoke the key turned in the lock, the door opened, and in stumped Henkel. He closed the door behind him, and stood facing the two young fellows.

'So we meet again, Kenneth Carrington,' he said. Like most German officers, he spoke excellent English, though with a thick, unpleasant accent.

Ken did not answer. It did not seem worth while. He stood facing the other, watching him with a slightly contemptuous expression in his clear blue eyes.

'We meet under different conditions from the last time,' continued Henkel.

'There is now no Othman Pacha to protect you from your just fate.'

Ken shrugged his shoulders.

'Why talk that sort of rot? You know just as well as I do that the last thing we shall get is justice.'

Henkel flushed slightly, but he kept his temper.

'What! Do you not shoot spies in your own army?'

'We are not spies. We went too far in the charge yesterday when we smashed up your people. We could not get back. We are prisoners of war and should be treated as such.'

'That is your story,' replied Henkel. 'We have plenty of evidence to the contrary. Any commanding officer would be justified in shooting you out of hand.'

'The evidence against us,' said Ken, 'is that of Kemp, late bathroom steward aboard the "Cardigan Castle," a man who has a personal grudge against me because I caught him signalling to an enemy submarine.'

'Again your unsupported statement,' said Henkel.

'It's the truth,' growled Roy from the background.

'Your evidence in a case like this is valueless,' said Henkel shortly. He turned to Ken again.

'Have you heard from your father since you last saw him?' he asked suddenly.

The question took Ken unawares.

'From my father?' he said, with sudden eagerness. 'No. Is he alive?'

There was a gleam of triumph in Henkel's prominent eyes.

'Yes,' he answered. 'He is alive and--under the circ.u.mstances--well.'

'I--I thought' began Ken and stopped.

'You thought that he had been shot,' said Henkel grimly. 'That would indeed have been his fate but for my interference. I used my influence to get his sentence altered to a term of imprisonment.'

Ken changed colour. He found it desperately difficult to keep a cool head.

The news that his father was alive had filled him with burning excitement.

The two had always been the best of chums, more like an elder and younger brother than father and son.

'Where is he?' he asked sharply.

'At present in Constantinople,' replied Henkel, who was watching Ken keenly. 'But it is likely that he will presently be sent elsewhere.'

'What--into Asia Minor?' said Ken in dismay. Constantinople was bad enough, but nothing to the horrors of the Turkish prisons in Asia.

'Not so far as that. He is to be moved, with others of the British and French, to Gallipoli.'

Ken's cheeks went white. His eyes were full of horror.

'You are perhaps aware,' continued Henkel, 'that the Turkish Government has decided upon this step as a response to the bombardment of unfortified places by your fleet. If Turkish civilians are to be killed, it is only fair that enemy civilians should share their fate.'

'Enver Bey seems to have learnt his German pretty thoroughly,' put in Roy sarcastically.

Henkel's eyes glared as he turned upon him.

'Be silent!' he ordered, with a fury he could hardly repress.

Roy merely smiled, and Henkel turned again to Ken.

'It lies with you whether your father goes to Gallipoli or not,' he said curtly. 'I have sufficient influence to prevent his being sent there.'