A MYSTERIOUS MESSENGER

Everything turned out as the doctor had said, and at seven o'clock they bade good-bye to their friend and protector, and left for the transport.

They had three hours to spare before the boat left, and to fill in the time they went for a walk round the port.

"It seems to me the most marvellous thing, the way in which we have fallen on our feet," said George, as they walked slowly along. "No one can doubt but that a Higher Power guides our footsteps. The miraculous escapes I have so far had teach me this, if I had needed any teaching."

"Yes, and the providential way we have been brought together astonishes me still more," answered his companion. "Let us turn down here, it will take us out of the town; we have plenty of time. I don't suppose either of us will have much opportunity for pleasure after this. I say, isn't Dr. Dixon a brick?"

"Rather! I only wish I was going to see more of him."

They had turned into a quiet street, which rapidly brought them to the outskirts of the town. The houses on either side stood right up to the pavement, and appeared to be of the better class. This portion of Port Said was much more picturesque than the parts of Cairo and Alexandria to which our hero was used, and he remarked upon it.

As they neared the end of the street, an Arab turned into it, from one of the many bye-ways, and came quickly towards them. He was a picturesque-looking man, dressed in his native garb. His dusky polished skin shone in the evening light, and he hurried along with a light, easy, swaying stride, his every movement displaying the athletic qualities that his robes tended to hide. As he approached the two friends, his watchful black eyes glanced quickly up and down the street, and then, apparently satisfied with what he saw, rested with a keen, penetrating look upon Helmar.

Without slackening his pace for a moment, or giving the least indication of his intention, he suddenly held out his hand and a piece of paper fluttered at our hero's feet, and the fellow passed swiftly on.

The whole thing was done so suddenly, that neither of the friends had time to say a word before the man had passed; and when, after picking up the paper, they looked round for him, he had disappeared as quickly as he had come.

George gazed at his companion, holding the missive in his hand, and burst out laughing.

"What a queer chap! If it weren't that he touched me as he passed, and I felt that he was flesh and blood, I should be inclined to think he was a ghost. I wonder what he is up to?"

"Examine the paper. Doubtless that will enlighten us," said the practical Osterberg. "If I'm not mistaken, this is some game, in which we are wanted to participate."

George examined the paper, turning it over and over wonderingly. It was a dirty envelope, of the cheaper kind, sealed down and addressed to him.

"The mystery deepens. It's from some one who knows me, evidently. The writing seems familiar, too. I wonder——"

"Confound it, man, open it!" broke in his impatient companion. "You are right about the handwriting. It is familiar."

Helmar tore the envelope open, and examined the contents. It was a brief note, signed by Mark Arden.

The two read the contents eagerly.

"Dear George,

"I have just found out you are in the town. For certain reasons, I cannot meet you in public; but, if you will meet me at the last Mosque outside the town, on the lake's edge (any one can direct you), in half-an-hour, I shall be glad to return you the money I borrowed at Varna.

"Yours ever,
"Mark."

As they finished reading this extraordinary epistle, the two young men silently looked at one another. Osterberg was the first to break the silence.

"Well, of all the unadulterated cheek I ever heard of, this beats everything! I suppose he's going to pay you out of what he stole from the barracks. What are you going to do about it?"

Helmar looked long at the paper before replying. He was trying to find out what lay hidden under these lines. Somehow, he could not bring himself to believe in their genuineness. There was a deeply suspicious air about the whole thing, not the least being the delivery of the note. At last he appeared to make up his mind.

"We'll see it through. If there is any trickery, I dare say we can hold our own. Will you come?"

"Rather!" cried his friend. "But have we time?"

Helmar looked at his watch. It still wanted two hours to the time he must be aboard the transport, and he had no doubt the quay could be reached in time.

"Oh, yes, heaps of time! We'd better find out where this particular Mosque is. We'll ask the first person we meet."

At this moment an elderly Arab came along from behind, as if in answer to his expressed intention, and Helmar stopped him, and inquired the way. The old fellow grinned, showing a row of perfect white teeth, which, in a man of his apparent years, astonished the companions.

"It is not far," he said, in a peculiar, grating voice, "and I am going that way myself. It will take but a few minutes."

Osterberg looked inquiringly at George.

"All right, come along. You lead the way, old man," said Helmar, "and we will follow."

Helmar slipped his hand in his coat pocket to make sure his revolver was there, and, having satisfied himself on the point, hurried along behind the Arab, talking and laughing with his friend, as if he had not the slightest doubt but that everything was fair and above-board.

The limit of the town was reached, and they passed along the sandy road until they came to some gardens. Here they turned off, and soon found themselves in a lonely, obscure sort of disused brick-field surrounded by some tumble-down hovels. At this spot their guide suddenly stopped.

"That is the Mosque, in the distance," he said, and without waiting for reply, hurried off at a pace that belied his age.

"I believe there's some trickery," said Osterberg. "I half wish we hadn't come. What's to be done?"

"That old man has brought us to this spot for a purpose," said Helmar. "Why didn't he leave us at the gardens?" A dark look came into his eyes as he spoke. "Well, we'll give Mr. Mark ten minutes to turn up," he went on. "After that, we'll go."

The two young men stood for a minute or two, kicking their heels about, and, at last, Osterberg got so impatient that he suddenly burst out——

"Come on, don't let us wait here, let us get back to the quay. This is some beastly hoax. The place is as silent as the grave—it gives me the creeps."

"I said we would give him ten minutes, and we will do so," said George, determinedly. "I'm not going until the time has elapsed. Hallo!" as he caught sight of a figure approaching, "here comes somebody. Perhaps it's Mark."

His surmise proved correct. Mark came quickly up, and held out his hand. He was dressed in Egyptian costume, and with his dark complexion and black eyes might easily have passed as a native.

"Ah! Helmar, and you, Osterberg!" he said. "I am glad to see you." Then, as neither took the proffered hand, he drew back. "Why, what's up? Aren't you going to shake hands?"

"You said in your note," exclaimed our hero, impatiently, "that you wanted to return the money you owe me. Where is it?"

"Ah, that's it!" answered Mark, with apparent relief. "Well, if you'll come into this house I'll give it you. Oh, it's all right!" as Helmar did not offer to move, "there's not a soul about besides ourselves. Come along."

"But why can't you pay me here? I have no time to fool about, and must get back to the quay in time to catch the boat."

"I know—at least, that is—all right," said Mark, seeing that he had made a mistake. "But you don't understand. This is where I have to live."

"Since you robbed those who helped you here, eh?" said George, contemptuously.

"I see you have heard of that, then," replied Mark, with a smile. "But really I had no intention of stealing, I only borrowed it as I borrowed it from you, and am equally as ready to return it as I am yours."

"Why don't you do so, then?" said Helmar, a little mollified at the man's open words. "Look here, Mark, I don't want to say hard things, but if you're not a knave you are a fool, and the sooner you pull yourself together and live a decent life, the better!"

"Oh, don't preach, Helmar!" cried Arden impatiently. "Allow me to do as I think fit. Now, will you come and get that money, or must I, on account of some silly notion of yours, go and fetch it? Of course, if you will not, then——"

"All right, lead the way," said Helmar, "I'll follow."

Arden led the way to a tumble-down, two-storied building, and the trio entered. It was dark inside.

"You'd better follow me pretty closely," said their guide, "the floor is none too sound, and you may have a tumble if you don't."

The two friends followed close up to their guide, and as they turned into a room, Osterberg fancied he heard a sound proceed from it. As nothing further alarmed him, he put it down to his straining nerves. As soon as they were inside, the door closed sharply behind them, and the ominous click of the lock made them both start. Helmar was about to say something, when Mark anticipated him.

"Hold on while I strike a light. The beastly wind has blown the door to."

This was such palpable nonsense that George expostulated.

"There isn't a breath of wind, man. Hurry up with the light!"

Arden fumbled with some matches for a moment, and then a light was struck.

"Trapped, by Heavens!" shouted Helmar, as the light revealed the room filled with armed Arabs.

"Yes, as you say—trapped!" said Arden, with a leer on his dark face. "You are the fool, Helmar, not I. But see here, I am on business. Not of my own, but that of the person who employs me."

Helmar was gazing at their surroundings and calculating the chances of escape. As far as he could see, there were at least a dozen fierce-looking Arabs standing in a ring round the walls, and the only mode of egress was a broken window and the door. The door was securely locked, but the window was not only broken, but the wall below it was in decay and looked as if one heavy blow against it would bring the whole thing down—it seemed to be only held up by a couple of wooden props set up from the floor on either side of the window.

He had no time for any careful survey, for Arden, observing his wandering gaze, exclaimed—

"It's no use, you can't escape. At a word from me these Arabs will kill you. Now, listen to what I have to say. As you know, Arabi is in open rebellion. I am employed by him. I am going round the country endeavouring to secure European recruits. He knows that he has practically only the British to deal with, and he wants to get as many Europeans as he can on his side. Now, in bringing you here, I am really doing you a good turn," he went on, with cool effrontery. "I am helping you to a far better position and infinitely more money than you will have with the British authorities. If you will join us you will be made an officer in his army, at a big salary, and you will be liberated at once; if you refuse—well, these men have their orders and you will never leave this place alive."

"So you would be a murderer as well as a thief!" cried George, with flashing eyes. "I will not talk about ingratitude to such a cur as you. You probably do not understand the word. I have this day signed to assist the British authorities to the utmost of my power, and——"

"Yes, I am quite aware of it," interrupted the villain. "Your movements have been watched from the moment you arrived in Port Said; but come—your answer. I have no time to waste."

Arden was holding the light in his hand. It was a small oil lamp, with uncovered flame. As he finished speaking, he held it out towards our hero, peering into his face. With a bound like a panther, George darted forward and seized the spluttering light. Giving one powerful twist, he wrenched it from the villain's hand, and, turning it upside down, a huge flame flashed out all over it. He dashed it to the ground and the burning oil ran over the floor, catching light to the pieces of worn-out mats scattered about, and in less time than it takes to write, the rotten boards flared up. Helmar, seeing what had happened, backed himself to the wall, dragging his companion with him.

His movements had been so rapid that even Arden's usual presence of mind had failed him; but, as he saw the flame burst from the flooring, he shouted to the Arabs to seize their prisoners.

He had, however, calculated without his host. The house was so rotten and dry that the flames spread with great rapidity, and the Arabs, in terror of their lives, made for the door. Seeing this, almost blinded by the smoke, Helmar and Osterberg dashed to the window, and, tearing away the two supports, sprang on to the sill. The supports gone, the weight of their bodies finished the work that time had begun, and with a terrible crash the wall gave way, and the companions fell with it. Springing to their feet, quite unhurt, they found themselves out in the open, and ran off at top speed in the direction of the town.

They were not a moment too soon, for Arden, at the head of the Arabs who had escaped by the door, came round the corner and followed in hot pursuit.

It was almost dark, but George remembered the direction from which they had approached the desolate house, and with unerring judgment led the way as fast as his legs could carry him.

Osterberg followed his fleet-footed friend, keeping pace with difficulty, and they soon reached the boundary of the gardens.

"Which way now?" panted Osterberg, as the dim outline of trees loomed through the darkness.

"Follow me," cried George in answer, as without a moment's hesitation he turned a sharp corner.

Each felt rather than knew that the swift-footed Arabs were coming ever nearer, and that their only means of salvation lay in strategy. For this reason George preferred the gardens to the open roads. Since Arabi's rising, Europeans had taken to staying in their houses at night, rather than run any risk of a stab in the dark, so that there was little hope of meeting any one who could help them in the open thoroughfare. The gardens appealed to Helmar on account of their dense foliage and excellent cover. In case the worst should come to the worst, they would at least afford them shelter, and he hoped against hope that by this means he could give their enemies the slip.

The patter of feet behind them had now grown louder and perfectly distinct, and at times Helmar even fancied he could hear the heavy breathing of the pursuers.

Darting like a brace of hares through the labyrinth of paths, the two young men kept on. Their pace was terrific, but the sound of feet was still not far behind them.

"George," panted Osterberg, as he drew up alongside his friend, "we can't keep this up. Can't we take the scrub and hide?"

"Not yet, not yet, keep going, we shall find a place soon."

Just then a light appeared among the trees to their right, and inspired with fresh hope they renewed their exertions, searching vainly for a path by which to reach it. Suddenly an idea struck George.

"Never mind the light. Here, take this path to the left. Arden and his Arabs are sure to think we have made for that light in the hopes of assistance."

Without hesitation they turned to the left, and in a few minutes came to an open gate in the boundary fence. For a second they paused to listen and recover their wind.

"You were right, George," whispered his companion, "I cannot hear the footsteps, they have gone in the other direction. Come along, let's hurry. Do you know where we are?"

"Haven't the faintest notion," was the comforting reply.

"Well then, I suppose we must trust to luck. Which way?" he asked, as they stepped into the dusty road.

George glanced quickly up and down. He saw some twinkling lights to the right.

"There we are, that's the town," and the two set off again at a run.

The lights became clearer and more numerous as they hurried along, and at last Helmar stopped running.

"I think we are safe now. Listen!"

The companions strained their ears to catch the slightest sound from behind, but they could hear nothing.

"Thank goodness, they have lost us. I don't think we need fear further pursuit," said George. "Now, I wonder if we are in time to catch our boat." Fearing to strike a match to look at the time, they hurried on towards the town, and in a few minutes reached the outskirts. With hurried pace they made for the landing-stage, and reached it a few minutes before the gangway was about to be hauled aboard the transport.

"A narrow shave in more ways than one," said Helmar, as they stepped on deck. "Come, we must report ourselves to the captain. I don't think we had better say anything about what has happened."

Osterberg agreed, and the two young men reported themselves at once.