The troopers galloped off. The officer turned once more towards Burton, whose expression of countenance gave no sign of the agitation within.
"It will be interesting to meet a fellow-countryman in this lonely spot," he said calmly. "May I offer you a cigarette, monsieur?"
The Turk took one from the opened case, thanked Burton, and turned the cigarette over in his fingers.
"Made in Cairo, monsieur?" he said.
"Yes, it is a privilege of us airmen to levy upon the enemy. Refugees have no need to smoke. With the airman it is a necessity--it steadies the nerves."
"True. And they make good cigarettes in Cairo." He lit the cigarette from an automatic lighter. "The Englishman looks frightened."
"He expects to be killed, I suppose, not knowing our German humanity. But you will excuse me, monsieur, if I examine the English aeroplane. It will come in useful."
Burton returned to the machine, and, after feigning to examine it, proceeded to plaster the crack with nervous haste. The Turk had followed him, and, remaining in the saddle, watched his operations with much interest.
"It was this injury that caused the Englishmen to descend," Burton explained. "German bullets never fail."
"An English bullet was more successful, however," said the officer, glancing at the dead pilot.