On the Road to Bagdad: A Story of Townshend's Gallant Advance on the Tigris

It was Geoff's turn to grin – a happy grin – for the exercise had improved his digestion, and had brought him to a position where he might be said to be in the pink of health, and therefore looked on the bright side of everything.

"I believe you, dear boy," he said, repeating Philip's statement. "As to when the chance will come, well, who knows? Only we are ready."

They spent that afternoon in carefully devising a gag and ropes, which they obtained by tearing strips off the blankets which had been provided for their covering; and then counted out the sum of money which, though not very great, was likely to prove a small fortune to the jailer. In fact, they had not yet completed their preparations when steps were heard in the corridor outside and halted at the doorway.

"Ready?" asked Geoff.

Philip nodded, and, sauntering to the corner of the cell, placed himself in a position which would allow him to throw himself on the back of the jailer. Geoff crushed the gag into his trouser pocket, and stood, as he had often stood before, facing the door, waiting for it to open. The bolts were pulled back with a clang, and slowly the heavy iron frame-door was pushed open, disclosing the smiling, friendly face of the jailer at first, and then a second individual – a stout, fat, heavily-built man, dressed in the loosest of European clothing, who mopped his streaming forehead with a red silk handkerchief, who panted and grunted, who blew gusts of air out of a mouth which was out of all proportion, from between two irregular rows of yellow teeth, hidden almost entirely by a moustache, which flowed on either side of his fat cheeks, and which was stained by cigarette smoke in the middle. More than that, the man wore on his head a panama hat which shaded his features, the exact expression of which was made all the more indistinguishable by the dusk already settling in the corridor, but which could yet be seen to be more pallid, of a whiter hue, than was common to the Turkish nation. It was no Turk in fact; it was a European, and none other than a German. More than that, what German in the heart of Mesopotamia could have answered to such a description as that above delineated but von Hildemaller? Yes, it was that urbane and kindly fellow, that perspiring, panting individual, that emissary of the Kaiser who dealt ostensibly in dates, but clandestinely in political matters. It was the garrulous, the charming, and the most entertaining Herr von Hildemaller, that cunning, scheming, unscrupulous wretch who had been instrumental in obtaining the imprisonment of Joe Douglas.

No wonder that Geoff stared at this apparition as though it were a ghost, a well-grown, beefy, and extremely solid ghost to be sure, yet one which filled him with amazement. No wonder, too, that Philip, after his own particular custom and habit, pursed up his lips and allowed a low-pitched whistle of astonishment to escape him. And then it was von Hildemaller's turn. He grunted, he mopped his forehead and face more violently, and greeted the two, first with a penetrating, suspicious glance, and then with an expansive smile, which took them both in at the same moment as it were, as if he were inordinately proud to meet them.

"Ach! It is vat I haff heard – two Englishmen – hein?" he grunted, and then, turning on the jailer, exploded: "Begone, dog!" he shouted; "close der door and go to your quarters, and haff no fear dat deese prisoners will escape, for see, I am armed and prepared to hold dem."

He waited, mopping his forehead and standing just within the cell, till the jailer had departed – had crawled away in fact, showing terror of this German – then, stepping well within the cell, von Hildemaller closed the door, and once more treated Geoff and his friend to an expansive grin, which was most friendly and most inviting.

"I haff heard dat you are here," he told them, casting a glance first at one and then at the other. "I haff remember dat you are white men like myself, and not dogs like deese Turkish; and although we are at war – we Germans and you British – yet it is far from here to Germany and England; and I haff said: 'Von Hildemaller, you are not such a craven fellow, so wrapped up in Germany, that you cannot befriend deese white men. Dey are nearer to you dan to deese Turkish dogs, deese heathen.' Mein friends, let me tell you something. I haff come to offer you friendshib and liberty."

They were sheep's eyes that he was casting at the astonished Geoff and Philip, little, swift, sidelong glances, which fastened upon their faces in turn – critical and almost anxious, penetrating glances, which, swift though the glimpse was of the faces of the British subalterns, marked every feature – their open guileless expressions, the look of astonishment, of relief, in their faces, the gleam of coming friendship in their eyes.

Von Hildemaller chuckled, and all the while turned on those unsuspicious and inexperienced subalterns his own peculiar and expansive smile – that smile which had deceived so many people, that smile the friendliness of which gave rise to no room for suspicion. He chortled, and mopped his streaming forehead again with his bright-red handkerchief. He was making progress he felt sure; these two stalwart young men were taking him to their hearts already – this big, fat, ungainly German. And why not? For see what an offer had been made them! And consider by whom! By none other than von Hildemaller, a person, it seemed, unknown to either of them, though let us not forget that Geoff already had some knowledge of this individual, and Philip also. Yet – yet could these tales that had come to them be true?

"Can the fellow be a rascal really?" Geoff was asking himself; while Philip stared at the huge perspiring German amazed, troubled for one of the few occasions in his life, disconcerted, his heart fluttering with hope at the opportunity of swift liberty, his better judgment, his common sense, overcome by his eagerness to be quit of this cell and prison.

And von Hildemaller, that scheming, cunning German, ogled the two with that pair of fat eyes of his; he curled his moustache, lifting it just for a second sufficiently high to allow them to catch a glimpse of that row of tobacco-stained teeth – that row of cruel teeth which gave perhaps a better inkling of this man's real nature than any other part of his anatomy. Von Hildemaller pushed the red handkerchief into one of his bulging pockets, and then threw out the two fat palms of his hands in a manner characteristic of him. He had made an impression, he felt; he must drive the thing home; now that the thin edge of the wedge had been introduced he must drive it in firmly, securely, till he had won by his very impulsiveness, by his open friendship, the goodwill and confidence of these young fellows.

"Mein friends, mein lieber friends," he said in his most unctuous and oily manner, that expansive smile now exaggerated, his broad face shining with indulgent friendship, "though I am a German, still I loff the English; yes, how I loff them! And, mein Gott, it is fortunate that I came upon a man who told me of you, a Turkish officer who indiscreetly whispered to me of two brave British officers who haff been made captiff. And den I say: 'Von Hildemaller, you are like deese young officers'."

He stopped and panted for a moment, and once more dived for his handkerchief with which to mop his face.

Like these two young officers! As if anyone in his common senses could have compared the huge, fat, ungainly German to either of these two spruce young officers, or could have seen the smallest likeness between the broad, smiling, yet cunning face of this Teuton and the open, frank, healthy expressions of our heroes.

"Ha!" von Hildemaller grunted, catching his breath and panting still more heavily, for speaking so rapidly was rather a tax on his energies. "And I say: 'Von Hildemaller, though you are a German, you loff deese English; dey are lost, forlorn captiffs in a strange country, a country of brutes and beasts not worthy to eat their food with Europeans', and den I make one big, noble resolve. I say: 'Von Hildemaller, mein brave, kind fellow, you will go to seek deese young men, you will rescue dem, you will take dem to a place where they can be on der parole – living like white men, treated with kindness and consideration'."

Out came the red handkerchief again, and the mopping process was repeated, while, as the folds of the red handkerchief swept across his forehead and cleared the vision first of one eye and then of the other, the Teuton's deeply sunk and penetrating optics lit upon the faces of Geoff and Phil, while his lips almost trembled with joy at the thought of coming triumph.

"Dey are fools, deese British pups," he was telling himself, chortling loudly, and chuckling at his obvious success. "First I haff the Major Pasha – that Douglas Pasha, and one day I will kill him – and now I haff deese odder, deese two more British officers. Himmel! How I hate der breed, deese British, who haff come so soon between der Kaiser and his object.

"Ach! If I could, I would screw the neck of every Englishman; yes, sweep them into the desert, bury them out of sight, clear them away from the steps of all Germans."

And yet all the time his perspiring face beamed upon our two heroes, beamed, whilst his words rang in their ears – those lying words which invited them to trust to this monster, which gave them hopes of liberty, which offered them a haven where they might rest in comfort and in safety, a haven which, for all they knew, might give them complete liberty to return to their own people. Indeed, though the German had not mentioned such a thing, had not even hinted at it, yet his openness of heart, the warm friendship he expressed for them, made such a possibility not entirely out of the question. It raised hopes, hopes which, in the case of Phil, had now almost undermined his judgment, had gone dangerously far towards winning his confidence, towards making him trust von Hildemaller absolutely. For – see the cunning of this German – he did not tell our heroes a fact unknown to them. He had met a Turkish officer who had let fall some indiscreet words with reference to British prisoners. The crafty German did not tell them that that was Tewfic Pasha, who, meeting the German, and, discovering that he already had news of such prisoners, had asked him to befriend them.

Tewfic Pasha himself was ignorant of the rascally work von Hildemaller had already perpetrated in the case of Douglas Pasha, otherwise he would have been on his guard. He distrusted Germans as a general rule, but yet, from force of circumstances, was compelled to trust von Hildemaller. He had taken a huge liking for Geoff and his chum, and wished to do them a real service, but found himself helpless. Here was an intermediary, for surely the German would help – this German with the smiling, friendly countenance – and von Hildemaller had pledged himself to do so, had eagerly assented to see to the welfare of Geoff and Philip, and had gone off chuckling, scheming – smiling no longer – with a set purpose – a purpose to wreak his hatred of all Englishmen upon these helpless subalterns.

And see him there, just within the door of the prison, perspiring horribly, mopping his face constantly, panting, chuckling, smiling – the smile of a tiger as he glanced at his two victims.

And Geoff, taken aback by his entry, by his unexpected coming, deceived for a moment by his demonstrative goodwill, by his words and his offer of help and liberty, almost fell into the net that was spread so cleverly for him, almost succumbed to the wiles of this Teuton. But his better senses, second thoughts if you will, came to the rescue. He remembered von Hildemaller's evil reputation, he knew well enough what part he had taken in the capture of Joe Douglas – for had not Esbul brought the story? – and now, as he stared unflinchingly, inquisitively, searching for the reason of this visit, into the eyes of the German, he saw, right behind them as it were, behind that broad smile, the cunning hatred and craft of the man, and delight at coming triumph. Then, shifting his gaze to Philip of a sudden, he winked, grimaced at him, and slowly pulled the gag which he had thrust into his pocket into the open.

Did he intend to take this German's offer? Or did he propose some other course? And if so, what course? What action would he take?

A second later what doubts there may have been were cleared up in a manner dramatic enough for the odious von Hildemaller – stunning in its unexpectedness by swift action which swept the blood from his face, and caused those ogling eyes of his almost to start from their sockets. For Geoff called in a low voice to Philip, and, leaping at the German, threw one arm round his neck, and clapped the other hand over that cunning mouth which had smiled so widely at him.

CHAPTER XVI

Breaking Out

What a picture a snapshot photographic artist could have made of that scene in the narrow cell occupied by Geoff and Philip for so many weary weeks, and into which the unctuous and scheming von Hildemaller had thrust himself so unexpectedly. A portrayal alone of the features of that huge and unwieldy German would by itself have provided a picture of consuming interest. That is to say, a portrayal of what features were left visible now that Geoff's strong muscular hand was tightly clasped across them. For above the hand there were left merely the closely-cropped head which gave the Teuton such an uncouth appearance, a forehead broad enough to give the impression of brain-power, a pair of eyes, deepset enough as a rule, and sparkling with suppressed humour if it happened to be a stranger who looked into them, with suppressed cunning if the observer knew the man, eyes now projecting in a hideous manner over the strong fingers which gripped below. And below those eyes a stubby nose, from which burst gusts of air as von Hildemaller grunted his astonishment. Underneath the hand, there was left just an edge of the somewhat square and determined chin possessed by this extraordinary individual. As for the rest of him – the huge body, the arms, the legs – all were in motion, writhing, kicking, plunging, striking out and tearing at the captor who gripped him so firmly.

"The gag!" Geoff called softly to Philip, who, appreciating the situation in an instant, had leapt from his position near the door to assist his comrade; "it's in my left hand. Jam it into his mouth as I force it open."

In a moment Philip had the gag, and, standing by, made ready to introduce it.

"Supposing he shouts though?" he asked.

"He won't," said Geoff abruptly. "When he opens his jaws it'll be with a jump, for I'll squeeze him. Ready?"

There was an emphatic nod from Philip, while the gay features of the young subaltern were again smiling jovially; he was grinning indeed, a grin of pure delight and triumph. Then those powerful fingers of our hero sought the interval on one cheek between the upper and the lower jaw, while his thumb sought the similar spot on the other cheek. A second later he pressed fingers and thumbs together and shot the German's mouth wide open, displaying a huge cavity out of which not a sound could come, for even if the grip on his jaw had not incapacitated von Hildemaller, the grip which Geoff's left arm now had round his bulky chest, the crushing power with which he compressed it, had driven all the breath out of the Teuton's body.

"In she goes, pop!" gurgled Philip, thrusting the gag in between that double row of yellow teeth. "Now we bind her!"

Quick as a flash he ran the strings from the edge of the gag out through the corners of the open mouth, and bound them tightly behind the German's neck. He needed no further instruction from his chum, seeing that the two had discussed the matter so very often, had discussed it, let us remember, not in connection with the tricing up of a visitor – a visitor so unexpected as von Hildemaller – but in connection with their Turkish jailer.

"Somehow I'd have been sorry for him," Philip murmured, as he seized the blanket-ropes already prepared, and tied von Hildemaller's wrists behind his back.

"What, this beggar?"

"No, no! I was thinking of the jailer. I'd have been somehow sorry for him, for he's been such a decent fellow, such a friendly beggar," corrected Philip. "But this chap! Jingo, ain't it jolly!"

He set about the completion of the job in a manner which showed his delight almost better than words could do, and in a trice had von Hildemaller's wrists most scientifically tied together, and his elbows pulled so close that movement of his upper limbs was out of the question. Then, at a nod from Geoff, these two powerful young fellows gripped the heavy German and lifted him, as if he were a babe, to the wooden divan. It took, perhaps, another two minutes to secure his legs and ankles, and to leave him like a helpless bundle.

"And now?" asked Philip, mopping his forehead, for the work had been furious while it lasted.

"We move!" declared Geoff promptly. "It's getting dusk already, and it's quite dark in this cell. Though, 'pon my word, von Hildemaller's eyes pierce the dusk like gimlets. My word! If only he were free and could do his worst for us! Now let's put the money we promised the Turk on this table, and then go. No time like the present."

They were indeed in the position of being unable to choose the time for the attempt to regain their liberty. In any case they were bound to seize the first opportunity that came, to seize it whenever it came, regardless of the hour or of the circumstances. But the coming of von Hildemaller had forced their hand in a manner neither had anticipated. He had, as it were, complicated their difficulties; for, now that he was secured, trussed like a bird, and laid out helpless, there was still the Turkish jailer to be considered – the man they had proposed to capture, the man who, once shut up in the cell, gagged and triced just as was von Hildemaller, would be out of the way, unlikely to run up against them in the corridor outside, unable to give the alarm and let others know that they were escaping.

"Can't be helped, the change in our plans," said Geoff, as he took another look at the German; "just squint outside, Phil, and tell me whether there's anyone in the corridor. If not, we'll pull off our boots and make our way along it in stockinged feet. Of course, if the jailer turns up, well, we'll have to be guided by circumstances."

In any case there was no time for discussion, no opportunity for making further or other plans, nothing to do but seize the opportunity, strike while the iron was hot, and free themselves from this prison. To strip off their boots and tuck them into their belts was the work of a moment, and then, unarmed but strong as lions – thanks to their own forethought and energy – they tiptoed into the corridor outside and stole rapidly along it, having gently pulled the iron door of their cell to upon the German. Some twenty paces along they found themselves at the head of a short flight of stone steps, and were quickly at the bottom. A turn to the left took them along another corridor, and then both suddenly halted.

"Voices – men talking – the jailer."

Philip nodded.

"The jailer and that fellow who often visited us with him. They're in that room to the left, the door of which is ajar, and the sooner we pass it the better."

Stealing forward again they were soon opposite a massive iron door, similar to the one which had closed their cell, and, halting for a moment, listened to the conversation of the two men within it. Listened long enough to assure themselves that they were right, and that within the cell their jailer and his friend were certainly seated. Then they moved on again, and, traversing a long corridor and turning to their right, found themselves in a different part of the prison. They had reached, in fact, an entrance-hall, as it were, out of which a heavy, barred door led, probably to the open.

"Locked and barred," said Geoff, inspecting it rapidly and as well as the dusk would allow; "no way out for us there, I think. Now, what happens?"

"S – sh! Someone coming," whispered Phil, "someone coming down the stairs, I think. From the sounds he is making he is coming towards us."

For a moment or two they stared in the direction from which the noise of feet descending the stairway had come to them, and then looked desperately about them, for not even the dusk in that big entrance-hall would prevent them from being discovered once an individual was within some yards of them. What were they to do? Bolt back towards the cell they had so recently vacated? Stand still and chance discovery and recognition? Or advance and throw themselves upon the individual who was approaching? Geoff threw out a hand and caught Philip by the sleeve, pulling him towards his left, towards the door which he had been so recently examining, pulled him in fact into the angle the door made with the heavy stone pillar which supported it. No one in his wildest thoughts could have described it as a safe hiding-place, no one in fact in similar circumstances would have willingly entrusted his chances of liberty to it, or would have leapt at the scanty security it barely offered. Yet it was a chance, a chance in a hundred, the only chance the occasion could produce, the only spot possible for Geoff and Philip. And there together they crouched against the stone pillar, wishing that the dusk might grow rapidly deeper, and that some friendly shadow would cast itself about them and hide them from the eyes of the intruder.

Those seconds which followed were long-drawn-out, agonizing seconds, seconds during which the slow, plodding, heavy footsteps which they had heard descending the stairway drew nearer, and nearer, and nearer. Then a figure came into view, a figure but dimly illuminated, which, reaching the centre of the hall, came to a halt, while the man – for undoubtedly it was a man – peered about him inquisitively, as if seeking for something, as if he too had heard sounds, sounds which had roused his curiosity and perhaps his suspicion. It gave the two young subalterns hiding in that shady corner quite an unpleasant start, sent quite a chill through their frames when they first cast their eyes on that figure.

"Von Hildemaller!" said Geoff under his breath, speaking to himself in fact. "Now, how – ?"

Philip moved and nudged his comrade.

"That beast," Geoff heard him whisper; "he's got out somehow! But how? I – "

"S – sh! It's not. It's a Turk, awfully like him," Geoff whispered back, putting his lips close to Philip's ear. "Not a word more or he may hear us."

True enough, the figure dallying in the centre of the hall was indeed almost a facsimile of that of the ponderous von Hildemaller. Of moderate height and thickset, his feet encased in Turkish slippers, the man's general appearance was alarmingly like that of the German, while, dimly to be seen through the dusk now settling deeper about the hall, were the ends of a pair of moustaches quite as fierce and flowing as those proudly flaunted by the German. Only the head was different, for it was bald, and perched on the back of it was a fez. Evidently, too, if this new-comer had had his suspicions roused, if he had actually heard sounds as he descended the stairs, he had now brushed the matter aside and was prepared to treat it as a delusion, as something easily explainable; for he moved on again, crossing the stone-flagged hall with heavy steps, and passing out into the dusk beyond, in the direction from which Geoff and Philip were escaping. It was then that Geoff mopped his forehead with what was left of a somewhat dilapidated and dirty handkerchief, while Philip allowed a breath of astonishment to escape his lips in a subdued whistle.

"Jingo!" he exclaimed; "that's a near one!"

"The Governor!" Geoff said. "The Governor, I'm sure. Ponderous and filled with dignity, a regular second von Hildemaller. But come along, we've no time to wait. Let's move on up the stairs and see what sort of a place the fellow came from."

Still in their stockinged feet, with their boots tucked in between their belts and their bodies, the two crossed the hall and ran lightly up a stone staircase. Turning abruptly as the stairs twisted upward, they presently reached a doorway where their further progress was barred by a door, framed in iron like that which had shut the opening from their cell, every feature of which they had studied so completely.

"Bah!" exclaimed Philip in disgust. "Trapped inside the place."