"Brilliant!" Geoff scoffed at him. "People don't travel so often during the night in these parts, but at any rate it's the only solution of our difficulties. We'll get on to the road and see what happens."
What actually happened was that, after a while, voices were heard in the neighbourhood of the prison; for by then Geoff and his friend had passed round the place, had found the road, and had sat down beside it. They heard the rattle of wheels somewhere on the road, and the ring of horses' hoofs. Creeping nearer, they heard those voices more distinctly, and after a little while, getting nearer still, Geoff was convinced that it was von Hildemaller himself who was talking.
"Go easy," he told Philip; "keep as far away as we can and listen to them. Von Hildemaller's in a nasty temper, I expect, and is quitting the prison. There! He's mounting into some sort of Turkish vehicle, and he's about to drive off. What's that he's saying? To Bagdad?"
"To Bagdad!" exclaimed Philip in an excited and eager whisper. "That's where we're going."
"I hope so, certainly," agreed Geoff.
"Then why not accompany our dear friend Hildemaller?" asked Philip, starting forward.
"Accompany him!" exclaimed Geoff; "you're fooling."
"Never hung on the back of a trap before?" said Philip immediately. "I have. Come along; let's get this German fellow to give us a lift to our destination."
The young subaltern had never given expression to a more brilliant proposal. Geoff seized upon it on the instant, and the two, running swiftly across the road in their stockinged feet—for they still kept their boots tucked close to their bodies—were within a few feet of the rickety chaise in which the German was riding. As it drove off, clattering heavily over the rough road, they raced up behind it, and, unknown to the German, clung on behind and accompanied him towards Bagdad.