The Turk hesitated. Perhaps he was considering whether it comported with an elderly captain's dignity to take a personal part in the search. Burton eyed him anxiously, hoping that he would go, meet the approaching German, and take him with him. The pause was brief. The temptation to catch a live Englishman overbore all considerations of dignity. With a word of thanks to Burton the Turk cantered on towards the big tree.
Burton breathed again. He hurried back to the seaplane.
"Slip the knots, Dick," he said, "but don't get up. I'll give you the word. I hope I've got rid of the Turk for a while."
He was in the act of pouring petrol into the tank when a figure appeared from round the western base of the knoll. It was a big Sancho-Panza-like person, mounted on a mule.
"Great Scott!" murmured Burton.
Dropping the empty tin, he hastened to the aviatik for another.
"I say, Dick, do you recognise that fellow?" he asked.
"Christopoulos!" Hunter whispered.
"As large as life! What on earth are we to do? He will recognise us directly, even if he hasn't done so already."
"Shoot him and scoot!"