MEETING OF FRIENDS AND CAPTURE OF ARDEN

The murderous fire continued, and the rebels, urged by their leader's words, turned like a flock of sheep worried by the herder's dog and fled precipitately; not one of that cowardly band waited to help their fallen chief, not one of them had any thought other than to save his own skin. Those who still remained in possession of their horses, scattered and galloped away in every direction, while those on foot threw down their arms and ran for their lives, pursued by the skirmishers who came galloping across the sandy plains.

George and his companions took in the situation at a glance, the uniform of the new-comers told its tale—the British soldiers had come to their rescue.

Helmar had no time to realize what this timely succour meant to him, and, for the present, he watched with interest the panic-stricken retreating rabble. He saw the sturdy horses of the honest English soldiers overtake one by one the flying Arabs, until at last the whole of that murderous band was in the hands of his friends. While he was still watching this interesting sight, three men rode up from behind, and a voice, sharp and clear, in tones of command addressed him.

"Who are you, and what does all this mean?"

George turned at the words and glanced at the man who had uttered them. He was tall and slight, with a thin aristocratic face, and, by the stars on his shoulders, Helmar knew him to be the officer in command. Without replying to the question, he said with heartfelt fervour—

"Thank God you came in time, you have accomplished more than you know of, sir!"

"Yes, yes, but answer my questions," the officer said impatiently.

"I am an escaped prisoner from Cairo, and bear dispatches of the utmost importance; on their instant delivery to the Commander of the British forces depends the lives of thousands."

"Eh, what?" ejaculated the officer. "How do you mean?"

Helmar then explained who and what he was, how he had escaped, and the facts of the mission on which he was now embarked. The officer listened with interest to all he had to say, the varying expression of his face betraying his feelings of surprise and disgust, horror and admiration as his story proceeded. At its conclusion he got off his horse and shook Helmar heartily by the hand.

"You are a brave man, and if the plot to destroy Cairo is as you say, and you bear the proofs with you, should we be in time to save it, you will have earned the nation's thanks, and any reward that Her Gracious Majesty can confer on you. But come, there is no time to be lost, we must return at once to camp."

As he finished speaking he turned away to give some orders; during the conversation the men not otherwise engaged had clustered round, standing at a respectful distance from their chief, eyeing George and his companions with curiosity. The moment the officer had moved off, one of the men rode up to George, and, glancing for one moment at the weary face before him, sprang from his horse and grasped him by the arm.

"What, George!" he cried. "I thought you were dead!" and the eager young face was wreathed in smiles, his eyes looking suspiciously watery as he gazed into the worn face of his friend.

"Charlie! Well, I never!" cried George in delight, as he grasped the fact it was his friend Osterberg in front of him. "Why, what are you doing here? This is nothing to do with banks!"

"And to think I should be with the party who has saved you," Osterberg rattled on, ignoring his friend's questions. "But, George, you are looking ill and not like your old self. What's the matter?"

Then Helmar went again through his story, and Osterberg, when it was finished, in his turn told him that the peaceful life at the bank had not suited him, so he had thrown it up and got employment with the British army, attached to the Engineers.

Before the two young men had finished exchanging confidences, the officer, having arranged the disposition of the prisoners, again approached. Seeing Osterberg in close conversation with his friend, he looked from one to the other, as if for explanation. Osterberg, understanding the look, promptly spoke up.

"Helmar is a very old friend of mine, sir. We came to this country together—in fact, we left the University for that purpose. I remember him being captured near Kafr Dowar; he was on patrol with an officer of the Engineers."

"Ah," replied the officer, "that is all the better. But we must start at once. You," he went on, turning to George, "had better take one of your men's horses and ride with me in advance of the rest of the party."

He was about to turn to his horse when, seeing Osterberg's speaking glance, he smiled and continued—

"Yes, you can accompany us, but hurry up!"

The young man, delighted at this extreme mark of favour, jumped on his horse, and Helmar, in obedience to the officer's instructions, took Belbeis's horse.

"It is good," said the Arab, "the master's work is now done. Be careful of him," he went on, handing over his sleek Arab charger. "He is Naoum's favourite steed, and will never fail you. I regret that he is wounded."

Belbeis and the guide now remained with the main body, whilst Helmar and Osterberg joined the officer, who, accompanied by an escort of four men, started at once for head-quarters.

"By the way," said the officer, after they had ridden a little way in silence, "the man who was leading the rebels is a prisoner—he is a white man. Do you know anything of him?"

George glanced at his young friend riding beside him.

"Do I know him, sir?" he said, repeating his superior's question. "There is a story of villainous treachery surrounding that man that will sound to you like fiction; if it will not weary you, as we have yet some miles to travel, I will tell it."

The officer expressed his willingness to listen, and George recounted to him all that had occurred from the time the three companions left Germany. The latter part of the story was new to Osterberg, and he exclaimed in horror and indignation at the villainous way Arden had persecuted his friend. When our hero came to the flogging, the officer's face became hard and stern.

"And you still bear the marks of that inhuman treatment?" he asked, when George had finished.

"That I do, sir," he replied, with a look of chagrin on his face. "My back is scored and lined like a ploughed field. I shall carry the marks to my grave, but, even so, I regret not one moment of the agony I have gone through so long as Cairo and the many hundreds of true men and women in it are saved. Had I not gone through this, had I not been a prisoner, I do not know who Naoum could have sent with the news. It is an ill wind that blows no one any good. Let us hope I am in time."

George's calm words, his lack of resentment at the treatment he had received from Mark Arden, touched a deep chord in the officer's nature, but he wondered at George's apparent unconcern.

"I should think considerably more of vengeance than you appear to do," he said, with an ominous glitter in his eyes; "prisoners, when left to the authorities, do not always get what they deserve."

"That may be, sir," replied George, "but time will show. Arden has lost his chance, the chance he wanted, of getting out of the country with his ill-gotten gains, therefore his rascality has brought him but little fortune. To my mind that is sufficient punishment, and, after all, revenge is but a small thing—he will be punished in some way."

"'m!" said the officer doubtfully. "I should want something more definite."

By sundown the British camp was in view, and, to Helmar at least, never was any sight more welcome. The heat of the sun, the excitement of the encounter with the rebels, the strain of the sixty miles' ride, all combined to weary him both mentally and bodily. The thought that after months of degrading captivity he was at last free was scarcely sufficient to raise his flagging spirits. As he saw the miles of white lines of tents stretching before him, a feeling of contentment gradually crept over his tired body, but there was none of the exhilaration he had anticipated; all he longed for was to fling himself from his horse and rest his weary bones. The watchful eye of young Osterberg had noted all this, and he anxiously looked over towards the camp as if expecting to see his friend give in before he reached it.

George, however, had no such intention; the sufferings he had gone through had hardened him to trials such as this, and though enthusiasm had gone from him to a great extent, he was nevertheless determined to see his duty through to the bitter end.

At last the outposts were reached, the countersign given, and they passed down the endless lines towards the Commander's quarters. After what seemed an interminable time, their destination was reached and the little party dismounted. Several aides-de-camp were about, and to one of these the officer explained his business; George, too weary to stand, seated himself on the ground and waited while the aide delivered the officer's message. In a few moments the man returned and said a few words to the officer and then returned to the hut. The officer approached Helmar.

"Brace yourself up," he said, in kindly tones, as he noted the weary expression of the young man's face. "Your work will soon be over, and you can take all the rest you need. You must come with me and see the Commander-in-Chief."

George sprang to his feet and followed his guide. He passed through a number of officers, who eyed his dishevelled appearance with curiosity, but they all made way for him, and at last he stood in the presence of the great man. Helmar waited in respectful silence until the Chief looked up. He found himself in the presence of a thin, wiry-looking man, with iron-grey hair, and a keen, sharp face, the aquiline features of which were lined from exposure and care. He spoke abruptly, and in the usual tone of an English military man.

"You have matters of importance to communicate?"

Helmar fumbled in his pocket, and produced the bundle of papers Naoum had given him.

"Yes, sir; these papers are the proof of what I have to say," he said, laying them on the desk in front of the Commander-in-Chief.

The officer unfastened them and glanced rapidly over the contents, then looked up.

"Well, what is your story?" he said, fixing a penetrating gaze on the young man's weary face.

George told his story as briefly as possible. During its narration the Commander kept his eyes on the papers, glancing up every now and then as something more astounding than the rest attracted his attention. When the story was finished he carefully folded up the documents and put them in a drawer.

"Thank you, my man," he said, in a dispassionate voice. "You have done well. The news you have brought through is of the utmost importance. Action will be taken at once. Your name is George Helmar, is it not?—good," he went on, writing it down on a tablet, then turning to the officer at his side, said, "Let this man be provided with quarters, and every comfort given him. This rebel officer, Captain, I believe you said was a prisoner. I shall want to see him in the morning. Er—that will do."

George knew this was his dismissal; but he hesitated as he turned to go, and the Commander was quick to notice it.

"Well, what is it?" he asked, without raising his eyes from his work in front of him. "Have you anything else to say?"

"Excuse me, sir, I do not wish to trouble you too much; but if any one is sent to Cairo," said Helmar, diffidently, "I should like to be allowed to go too—I know the best route to take."

The officer looked up, and scanned the drawn face before him.

"You look tired, my man, and I do not wonder at it. You must rest; but your orders will be given you later on. You can go now."

George was compelled to leave, and he did so reluctantly. He felt it was hard if a relieving force should be sent, and he not allowed to accompany it after all he had done. Still, he knew this man's word was absolute, and he must abide by his decision whatever it might be. With keen disappointment he left the room, accompanied by the officer who had been directed to see about quarters for him.

Once outside he was handed over to a subordinate, who carried him off to his tent. The man was a sergeant, and a good sort. After traversing the lines for a few minutes they stopped outside one of the many white tents.

"It's very late to see about quarters for you," said the man, "but this is my tent, and if you would like to share it with me to-night, I will see that you are made comfortable to-morrow. You'll find they are not so bad," he went on, throwing back the fastenings as he spoke. "There are plenty of blankets and some good grub."

"I shall be delighted," replied George quickly; "only let me sleep, the bare ground will do as well as anything else."

"Ah, well, you'll find my quarters better than that," said the sergeant, with a laugh, leading the way in.

Inside, George found as the man had said, and he quickly had a comfortable bed made on the ground.

"There you are, fling yourself on that while I go and get you some supper. Your horse has been put on our lines, and the men have attended to him, so you needn't bother. Your saddle shall be brought here."

The sergeant went out, and soon returned with the promised supper, and George fell to with an appetite in no way impaired by his fatigue. While he was in the middle of it, chatting away to his companion, an orderly strode up, and, putting his head in the doorway, said—

"Does the man named Helmar stop here, Sergeant Smith?"

"Yes, here I am," answered George, before the sergeant could reply.

"Good!" said the orderly. "You will hold yourself in readiness to leave at daybreak on special duty."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Helmar. "I'm going to Cairo after all!"

"You, Sergeant," continued the man, "will have other work to do. The general assembly will sound at ten-thirty. Arabi's going to get fits to-night!" he added, as he went off, laughing.