'It lies with you whether your father goes to Gallipoli or not,' he said curtly. 'I have sufficient influence to prevent his being sent there.'
'How do you mean?' Ken asked thickly.
'I will tell you plainly. Your father still holds the title deeds of certain property near Ipsala. This property he has, of course, forfeited since his conviction. I wish to purchase this land from the Turkish Government, but owing to the absence of the deeds, which are, apparently, in a London bank, there are difficulties as to the transfer.
'What I require is a letter from you to your father, asking him to authorise the return of these deeds. In return for this small service I will arrange for you and your companion to be treated as prisoners of war and sent to Constantinople, where you will remain until the end of the war, as will also your father.'
He stopped, and stood watching Ken keenly.
Ken was in an agony of indecision. So far as he himself was concerned, he would not have hesitated a moment in refusing the terms offered by Henkel. But there was his father to think of—and Roy.
His voice was strained and harsh as he spoke again.
'How do you know that my father would agree to any such letter, even if I was to write it?' he asked.
'Because,' answered Henkel, 'your life will depend upon a favourable answer.'
Ken paused again.