Then they had moved away from the yard, had passed down one of those narrow winding streets which intersect the city, and had finally gained the main street which led to the western gate.
"And now, all we want is our dear friend von Hildemaller," declared Philip. "He was to come at dusk, Esbul—that's what you said; you're sure?"
"Certain, Master. If you have any doubts, but think for a moment. The tale I told was that three hirelings were to await the German outside the western gate of the city, one driving a rickety chaise and two mounted. Then consider for an instant: we who went out to track these men, who watched outside von Hildemaller's quarters, saw three men emerge, followed three men, tracked them to the west of this city, tracked them, indeed, into a stable where a chaise was waiting and three horses. Is not that, then, proof sufficient of the truth of the tale I have told? Does it not lead one to feel sure that the rest of the plan will follow?"
"S—s—h, shut up! Get into your place, Esbul. Climb on to your pony, Philip; and don't forget—not a word. I can hear someone coming."
They had drawn up the chaise just beside the road, and were standing on the soft ground which bordered it. The road itself was so covered in dust that there, too, steps were hardly audible; yet the heavy tread of a man approaching now reached their ears, and a little later the deep breathing of one using much exertion. Then, when a few minutes had passed, a ponderous figure came into view through the gathering darkness—a figure which grunted and panted, which could have belonged to no other than the German.
"Ach, it is there!" they heard him say in his own language. "It is well, for I am tired, and this dust and the heat exhaust me."
Coming up to the chaise, he looked swiftly at the figures of the three men near it and clambered ponderously into it.
"You came direct here without attracting attention, eh?" he asked peremptorily of one of the figures mounted on a pony—of Philip, in fact, for the subaltern happened to be nearest. "Come, answer! You attracted no attention!"
He was speaking in Turkish now—execrable Turkish, with a strong flavour of German accent about it, and yet a language unknown to Philip. What was he to do? Attempt an answer or remain silent? Either might easily warn the German that all was not as it should be, and then a way out of the difficulty occurred to him. Philip opened his mouth as if to answer von Hildemaller, and immediately bent double over the neck of the animal he was riding and commenced to cough violently, as if he had caught his breath, or as if the cloud of dust which the German's heavy feet had stirred had almost choked him.
"Bah! Then you answer the question."