“What’s that about prisoners?” cried Sir Arthur, coming eagerly forward. “Will they spare our lives, I wonder? Let me talk to the fellow. I’ll try to conciliate him.”
He walked pompously to the parapet and bent over. Perhaps the champagne he had drunk had affected his head. At all events he leaned a little too far, and, suddenly losing balance, he toppled over and fell with a thud plump on the heads of two Arab sentries at the door. All three came to the ground in a heap, and it was a great relief to the anxious watchers above to see Sir Arthur stagger to his feet apparently unhurt.
The effect on the Arabs was electric. The remaining guards glanced up apprehensively, and very speedily changed their location.
As for Makar, he evidently believed that Sir Arthur had come down expressly in response to his summons, for he waited for the rest to follow his example.
“Bless my heart!” muttered Sir Arthur. “What a narrow escape!”
He started toward Makar, but two Arabs laid hold of him and pulled him roughly to one side.
“We’d better go down,” said the colonel, and raising his voice he shouted,
“Do you swear to preserve our lives if we come down?”
“By the shades of Mohammed, I swear it. Come down,” replied Makar.
“We’ll have to trust to his word,” said the colonel. “Put the ladder in position.”