"I—it is monstrous!" he shouted, using the native tongue but indifferently, his words bearing a strong Teutonic accent. "Are you, too, in the plot? Did you then plan for them to seize me? I—I——"
The poor fellow was stuttering more than ever, his flabby cheeks were positively shaking, while his whole person was quivering. It looked almost as if he would have thrown himself upon the Governor, that other stout man staring back at him now in frightened manner. No doubt, too, had von Hildemaller had breath sufficient for the task, he would have vented his wrath upon the Turk promptly. But, as it was, he cast the rifle on the stone steps and sent it clattering down into the hall below. Then, wobbling badly, his knees shaking after such unusual exertion, perspiring still in horrible fashion, and displaying that particularly close-cropped pate, he went off after the rifle, stumbling down the steps and into the hall, and from there out into the open. It was almost dark then, and for a while he stood still, blowing heavily, and enjoying the evening breeze as it played about his heated features. Then he gave vent to a faint and somewhat subdued whistle, and repeated it a moment later. A figure slid up from some dark corner and stood beside him.
"Master," he said, "you whistled."
"Whistled? Yes, twice, and you were not there at the first summons," snarled von Hildemaller, delighted to have someone else upon whom he could turn his wrath and vexation. "How now? Where are these prisoners? You saw them escape from the place? You followed them, eh?"
"Prisoners?" said the man, startled, stepping back a pace or two, so that a gleam of light, flashing through the open door of the prison from a lantern which had now been lighted, fell upon him. "Prisoners? But——"
"But—prisoners, fool!" the German retorted, eyeing the man severely as he stood in the lamp-light. "You did not follow them then; you allowed them to escape without troubling?"
His tones were even more angry as he watched the man; while those beams of light, as they fell upon the German's companion, showed the features of that same rascal who had answered his signal in the Bazaar at Bagdad at that time when Major Joe Douglas had accosted von Hildemaller. Without a shade of doubt, indeed, this Turk was the ruffian who was in the hire of the German, who was ready to carry out any piece of villainy for him. Esbul knew it; that old Jew whom Douglas Pasha had questioned in the Bazaar at Bagdad knew it too; while the cautious yet seemingly unsuspicious Douglas Pasha knew it better, knew it so well that he had made that hurried departure from Bagdad, knew it better still now, seeing that it was thanks to this rascal, and the German, that he lay in prison.
No doubt, had the man not been of such great use to von Hildemaller, the latter would then and there have vented all his wrath and vexation on him; but if the German were angry he was still not so furious that he was altogether bereft of common sense and caution. Caution, indeed, was something which had helped the Teuton to be successful; it was his hard-headed common sense and cunning which had made of him such a plotter, and now that same common sense caused his anger to evaporate. In any case he became calm, and stood for a moment or so considering deeply.
"Listen, my friend!" he said at last, his tone completely changed. "You did well. You sat here, you tell me, and heard nothing. Then I will tell you what has happened. The two prisoners we sought are gone—escaped within a few minutes of my gaining the prison; they are nowhere to be found, and we must seek them. Tell me now, you who are clever in such matters, supposing you to be in their place, and to have shaken yourself free of the prison, whither would you turn? What quarter?"
The man answered him promptly, without a thought it seemed.