"Turkish?"
"Yes, sir. Father was quartered at Constantinople, at the British Embassy. I was there a good five years, and so learnt to know all about 'em. If I was disguised I could pass easily, and so I'm going in the gear of that officer."
"But—but why?" demanded the Commander.
"First, to find a more suitable crib for us, sir. That officer fellow may recover consciousness just as quickly as you have done, and then he may very well return to these quarters. That'd be bad for us. Next, there's Major Harvey and his friend to be thought of. We couldn't very well return aboard the airship without them."
"Certainly not. If they're to be found, then we find them," came from the officer. "But—look here, Dick, this idea means danger, don't it?"
"Risk, perhaps, sir. Nothing more."
"Supposing you were spotted?"
The Commander sat up quickly and looked anxiously at the midshipman.
"Then it would be unlucky for me, sir," came Dick's steady answer. "Of course, you and Alec would work hard to get back to the ship. But I haven't been spotted yet, and don't mean to be. Someone's got to go out, and I'm that someone, for I can understand these people. Now, Alec, give me a help with this gear. Say, how do I look? Fairly smart, eh? That fez always makes a fellow look fetching."
Dick made certainly quite a smart officer once he was dressed in the greatcoat, belts, and pouches of his late assailant, while the fez gave him quite an Oriental appearance. Indeed, the Commander was delighted.