Under the Rebel's Reign Part 7

"Not a word!" he whispered, after a momentary pause. "We are followed. Come, drop down here, under this bush, and don't move till you see what I do. Shush!"

The pair lay down and pushed themselves as far under the bush as possible. Here they were within reach of the foot-walk they had been travelling, and yet entirely screened from observation.

So far George's untrained ear had discovered nothing, and he marvelled at his companion's sharpness, but before they had been there a minute, he heard the soft patter-patter of bare feet coming along the path. The officer squeezed his arm to impress silence upon him, and then, raising himself, he tucked his feet under him ready for a spring. The footsteps came nearer and nearer.

George felt a quiver of excitement pa.s.s all over him as he waited; every nerve was strained to its utmost tension, and it was with difficulty he repressed the desire to jump out of his hiding-place.

The footsteps were now nearing at a run, evidently the spy thought he had lost his quarry, and was anxious to see what had become of them.

Suddenly the figure loomed up in the darkness, and just as it came abreast of the bush, the officer bounded from his place of concealment. Before the man could so much as cry out he had gripped him by the throat, and brought him down to the ground.

George was hardly a moment behind his chief.

"Quick, gag him with his turban!" said Childs. "There is no time to lose."

While the inspector held the man, Helmar unwound the turban and bound it round the fellow's mouth. Then cutting the spare end off, he secured his hands behind him. The man's sash was useful in binding his feet, and, thus trussed, they threw him under the bush.

"I calculated on this," said the officer. "Had we not secured this fellow, the meeting would have been warned, and we should probably never have escaped with our lives. Come along, he is safe for a while, and we can now continue our journey without fear of observation."

"But," said Helmar, "how is it that this n.i.g.g.e.r came to follow us--who put him on your track?"

"Ah, I see you don't understand. There are spies all over the town, and the police movements are watched. I, in particular, never leave the office but I am followed by one of these thieving, murdering Arabs."

The inspector now altered his direction, and they returned towards the town. In a few minutes they approached a dingy-looking house standing well back from the road. The place stood in its own grounds, and over the door was a sign which George failed to understand. At first glance there appeared to be no indication of occupation--the house was in complete darkness.

Before they came up to it, the officer made a _detour_ and reached the ground at the back.

"That is the house," said he in a whisper. "It is one of the most infamous gambling h.e.l.ls in the city. You can see no lights because all the shutters are closed, and no doubt there are blankets over them; but--holloa, there's a light shining through that window!" he went on, pointing to one that had just come into view as they reached the garden.

The two men now climbed over the fence, and, dropping into the shrubs on the other side, cautiously neared the building. Telling George to remain where he was, the inspector crawled right up to the window, through the shutters of which a stream of light poured.

Watching him eagerly, George saw him place his hand on the sill and peer through the crack. The moments slipped by, and his eye remained glued to the crack. Suddenly there was a rustle in the bush close by. It pa.s.sed unnoticed, for George had eyes and ears for nothing but what his chief was doing. Again there was a rustle, this time more p.r.o.nounced. Still it remained unnoticed.

The inspector suddenly left the window, and the next moment rejoined his companion.

"Well?" whispered Helmar, anxiously. "What news?"

The inspector's face was very grave, and his tones, as he answered, were full of import.

"The best--or rather, the worst. I recognized two people there, one a trusted member of the official staff, and the other a man who has been suspected for a long time. We had better get back--there is nothing more to be done to-night, I have seen all I wish to.

To-morrow--we'll wait until to-morrow."

As he finished speaking, he turned sharply round and peered into the scrubbly bush behind them.

"What is it?" asked Helmar, his hand slipping to his revolver unconsciously.

"Did you hear anything?" asked his companion. "By Jove, there's some one on our track. Come along, we'll get out while we have a whole skin."

Leading the way out of the shrubs they made for the fence. The night was particularly dark, and the air was so still that the light sound of their footsteps became ominously loud. The inspector was convinced that there was some one in the garden watching them, and their only chance of safety was by taking to the open instead of returning as they came, through the scrub. At last the fence was reached.

"Up you get, youngster!" whispered Childs. "Look well before you drop on the other side."

George sprang on to the top and looked over. At that moment he heard a terrible cry behind him. Glancing round, he was just in time to see the glint of a long keen blade, and the next instant the inspector fall to the ground with a groan.

Without a moment's hesitation, George dropped from the fence to his a.s.sistance. He drew his revolver, and, just as a hideous great black wretch rushed at him, he fired point-blank. Down fell the man across the fallen officer, and then, as if by magic, half-a-dozen wild-looking figures appeared all round him.

There was no mistaking their intention. With a yell of fury they rushed on him. Helmar was as cool as if anything but his life depended upon the issue. As the nearest of the Arabs approached, he dropped him with another shot, then turning with an astonishing quickness of the eye brought another to his knees. It was, however, his last shot, for, as the man fell, his knife which had been upraised, struck him on the wrist, lacerating it terribly; his revolver fell from his nerveless grasp, and he was at the mercy of his antagonists.

For a moment or two he struggled furiously with the remaining three, but the contest was too uneven. The a.s.sailants were armed with long, keen knives, and Helmar had now nothing with which to defend himself.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Just as a hideous black wretch rushed at him, he fired point-blank." p. 66]

In those moments he realized the futility of his efforts, but he meant to sell his life dearly, and struck out with his left to such purpose that for a second the savages drew back. It was, however, but a momentary lull, and with a combined rush they overwhelmed him.

For one brief moment he struggled fiercely, then he saw one of his a.s.sailants raise a long narrow blade--the next instant it fell, and, with a sickening sensation, it struck him in the shoulder. He struggled to release himself, and then, without a single cry, sank to the ground.

The sound of the firing and the cries of his a.s.sailants had roused the neighbourhood, and just as the murderers were about to finish their work a crowd approached, and they precipitately fled. It was a mixed and villainous crew that first reached the spot after the departure of the murderers, mainly consisting of natives; but there was a sprinkling of Europeans of doubtful repute, and they quickly gathered round the two inanimate bodies.

CHAPTER VII

A GOOD SAMARITAN

When Helmar woke again to consciousness, it was with no idea either of the lapse of time or any recollections of what had occurred to him in the meantime. Beyond being able to turn his head slowly from side to side, he was unable to move, and a terrible feeling of la.s.situde and weakness nipped all inclination in that direction.

The room in which he found himself was squalid and gloomy, and, as his dull, inquiring gaze wandered over his surroundings, he endeavoured to realize where he was. The effort was more than he was equal to, and, closing his eyes, he relapsed into a calm, dreamless sleep.

In that first dawn of consciousness he had failed to see the silent figure at his bedside--a figure which, had his gaze rested upon it, would probably have troubled his weakened mind and stayed his peaceful slumber.

The moment his eyes closed, the figure silently rose and glided noiselessly from the room. Presently it returned with a gla.s.s containing a steaming potion. Setting it down, it bent over the bed and gazed long and earnestly at the sleeper. A look of satisfaction came over its grim and wrinkled face as it resumed its vigil at the bedside.

When next the sick man awoke, a tiny lamp was shedding its dim rays over the dingy apartment. This time the figure at once approached the sufferer and held the gla.s.s to his lips. Too weak to resist or even care what was happening, he silently drank. The blood instantly coursed more rapidly through his body, and he felt refreshed and stronger. Watching the look of intelligence come into his eyes, the figure put the gla.s.s down and spoke to him in excellent French.

"You feel better now?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied in a faint voice, as though trying to recollect something. "I have been ill, haven't I?"

"Very ill," was the response.

"Who are you?" he asked, after a pause, "and where am I?"

"I am Mariam Abagi," she answered quickly, "and you are in a house at Gizeh. I am what you call a Syrian Arab. But do not worry--you are too ill yet to think or talk; wait until you are better," and she silently left the room.

For a moment or two Helmar tried to understand and recall something of what had happened, but all seemed so dim and misty that he had to give it up, and at last, becoming drowsy again, fell asleep.