'I'm not very clear what he is after,' Ken answered in a puzzled voice. 'But it's something to do with our property, you may be sure of that. This much I do know—that Henkel was awfully in debt when I last saw him. And I know this, too—that our friend, old Othman Pacha, who is Bey in that part of the country, would refuse to let the property pass without proper title deeds.'
'Then it's clear as mud,' said Roy quickly. 'Henkel wants to get the deeds out of you.'
'That may be it. But anyhow I'm not of age. I couldn't sign anything.'
'Don't, anyhow,' said Roy. 'He can't do worse than shoot us.'
But Ken looked very grave. Inwardly, he was thinking that, if Henkel did actually mean to make terms, he had no right to sacrifice Roy's life as well as his own.
At this moment the corporal came in with a platter of food and a pitcher of water. He planked them down without a word, and went out again.
'No use starving ourselves,' said Roy with his usual cheeriness. 'It's a case of "let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die."'
His pluck was wonderful, and they set to as well as their manacled hands permitted, on the coarse barley-meal bread and goats' milk cheese. They had had nothing since their 'emergency' breakfast and they finished the food to the last crumb.
'That's better,' said Roy. 'Now I'm ready for anything.' As he spoke the key turned in the lock, the door opened, and in stumped Henkel. He closed the door behind him, and stood facing the two young fellows.
'So we meet again, Kenneth Carrington,' he said. Like most German officers, he spoke excellent English, though with a thick, unpleasant accent.