Guy's heart seemed to leap into his throat as he nervously handled the revolver that stuck in his belt.
Canaris coolly replied in a low voice. The Arab evinced no intention of coming any nearer, and in an instant more the fugitives had plunged into the gloom of another cross street.
On all sides now were rude abodes, some of sandstone, others of clay, and at some places even tents were to be seen. Laughter and loud talking came from open windows. Two or three fierce looking Somali warriors stalked past in dignified silence, and an Arab sheik, wrapped closely in his garment, looked at them cautiously as he hurried by.
Melton now walked with difficulty. His wound had broken out afresh and was bleeding. The weight of the rifle was too much for him, and he was compelled to abandon it in the road.
"A little farther now," said Canaris encouragingly, "and we shall be safe."
Melton tried to walk faster, leaning on Guy's arm, but at last, with a moan of pain, he sank to the ground.
"Go on, leave me; save yourselves," he whispered feebly, as they bent over him and tried to lift him to his feet.
"One more effort, my dear Melton," implored Guy in an agony, "only one more effort, and we shall be safe. We can carry you if you can't walk."
"No," he gasped. "Go at once. You can escape. I would only keep you back and cause your capture; better one than three."
Guy threw an appealing glance at Canaris. The Greek's features were immovable. He calmly waited the result of Guy's pleading.