There was silence for some moments while the big ship ploughed steadily north-eastwards through the night.
'And you?' said Burney at last.
'I—I'd have shared the same fate if it hadn't been for old Othman Pasha. He was a pal of ours, as white a man as you want to meet, and he got me away and over the border into Greece. It was in Thrace that I saw fighting. I came right through it, and got mixed up in two pretty stiff skirmishes.'
'My word, you've seen something!' said Burney. 'And—and, by Jove, I suppose you understand the language.'
'Yes,' said Carrington quietly. 'I know the language and the people. And you can take it from me that the Turks are not as black as they're painted. It's Enver Bey and his crazy crowd who have rushed them into this business. Three-quarters of 'em hate the war, and infinitely prefer the Britisher to the Deutscher.'
'And how do you come to be in with us?' asked Burney.
'I joined up in Egypt,' Carrington answered. 'I went there two years ago and got a job in the irrigation department. I've been there ever since.'
Again there was a pause.
'And what about Henkel?' asked Burney. 'Have you ever heard of him since?'
'Not a word. But'—Ken's voice dropped a tone—'I mean to. If he's alive I'll find him, and—'