"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!"