Part 9 (1/2)
The Arab quietly loosened Melton's s.h.i.+rt and coat, and, was.h.i.+ng the wound, wrapped bandages spread with some soft ointment round his body.
He did the work speedily and dexterously, and then departed as silently as he had come. He had barely gone, however, when a soldier entered with a tray containing dates, figs, and a peculiar kind of cakes, which he placed before the prisoners. They ate with relish, and then, overcome by weariness, they lay down on the straw and fell asleep.
It was some hours later when Guy awoke. Night had come, for no light shone through the aperture. He lay for some time listening to Melton's deep breathing and thinking of their terrible situation.
He was not without hope of deliverance, for he placed a great deal of faith in Makar's promise; yet even then the chances were against them.
Perhaps at this very moment Zaila had been retaken, and Makar was killed or a prisoner. If this should happen they were lost. Guy shuddered to think of Rao Khan's vengeance under such circ.u.mstances.
Presently he became aware of vague noises somewhere in the distance. He fancied he heard shots fired and a loud tumult of voices.
He thought it might be imagination, but suddenly the sounds increased, and once or twice footsteps hurried past the dungeon. The noise now woke Melton, and together they listened, convinced that it was a presentiment of coming evil. The strange sounds rose and fell, at times nearly dying away and then bursting out with renewed violence.
”I can't understand it at all,” said Guy. ”It can't be a rejoicing over the capture of Zaila, for they are plainly cries of anger.”
”We'll know pretty soon what it means,” returned Melton; ”it concerns us, you may be sure.”
In his excitement he arose and began to pace the floor. His wound was giving him no pain, he said, adding that he really felt pretty well again.
At last the shouts seemed to come a little nearer, and before long the fierce, angry cries were heard close at hand.
”They are surrounding the prison,” said Guy, huskily.
He was right. A howling mob was on all sides of them now, and it was quite clear that they were beginning to attack the walls of the courtyard, for suddenly half a dozen shots were fired as though the guards were resisting the invaders.
It was a period of terrible suspense. The shouts increased, the firing grew heavier, powder-smoke drifted into the prison; but just when they expected to see their dungeon door torn open by a mad swarm of fanatics the uproar suddenly ceased.
A full minute of silence followed, and then on the night air rose a howl of triumph, so savage, so vindictive, that Guy and Melton s.h.i.+vered from head to foot. For some reason the attack had been suddenly abandoned.
What that reason was they could only surmise.
The silence continued. The invaders had dispersed. Sleep was impossible, and they pa.s.sed the time in conversation until a streak of light, flickering through the opening, showed that morning had come.
Food and drink were brought in. The prisoners ate sparingly. The shadow of a great calamity was overhanging.
”I am just as sure,” said Melton, ”that something will shortly happen, as I am that you and I are in Rao Khan's slave prison at Harar.”
”Listen,” answered Guy.
Footsteps approached. The door creaked and opened, and a man entered.
With a cry of wonder Guy and Melton sprang to their feet. The newcomer was bronzed and burnt, he had light hair, a mustache and a soft blond beard, but he wore trousers and a tunic of white linen.
The surprise was mutual. The stranger scanned them closely from head to foot.
”Who are you?” cried Guy hoa.r.s.ely. ”Can it be possible that you are an Englishman--an Englishman in Harar?”
The man paused a moment, and then said quietly: ”I am a Greek. My name is Canaris Mataplan. At present I am an interpreter to Rao Khan, the Emir.”
”But your English?” cried Melton. ”It is perfect.”
”I was a cafe-keeper at Cairo for seven years,” replied the Greek. ”I learned English there.”