"True. And they make good cigarettes in Cairo." He lit the cigarette from an automatic lighter. "The Englishman looks frightened." "He expects to be killed, I suppose, not knowing our German humanity. But you will excuse me, monsieur, if I examine the English aeroplane. It will come in useful." Burton returned to the machine, and, after feigning to examine it, proceeded to plaster the crack with nervous haste. The Turk had followed him, and, remaining in the saddle, watched his operations with much interest. "It was this injury that caused the Englishmen to descend," Burton explained. "German bullets never fail." "An English bullet was more successful, however," said the officer, glancing at the dead pilot. "Not more successful, surely, monsieur. We have scores of good pilots, we can replace every man that falls; but the English cannot afford to lose a single machine. And do not our German newspapers tell us that they have hardly any left? The earth is the Kaiser’s; the sea is his; the air is his also. Turkey will flourish again in German air." Having filled up the crack, Burton proceeded to pour petrol into the tank. "This fellow-countryman of mine?" he said. "He will be here soon, no doubt. He is a trifle stout, and a poor horseman. Consequently he travels slowly. When he saw the aeroplanes descending he insisted on our pushing on to render assistance to his fellow-countrymen. He cannot miss the track, there is only one. But he should be in sight." The Turk looked backward over the track, then saying, "Excuse me," he wheeled his horse and began to trot towards the knoll. Burton had by no means completed the replenishment of the tank. He felt that something must be done. "Monsieur le capitaine!" he shouted. The Turk pulled up. Burton went towards him with an air of mystery. "Your men are at fault, monsieur," he said. "It would be a pity to let the Englishman escape, and you have no time to waste. Perhaps if I show the way!" He walked on up the knoll, the Turk riding by his side. "There, monsieur, you see that big tree on the far side of the bay? If you do not find the fugitive thereabout you won’t find him anywhere." The Turk hesitated. Perhaps he was considering whether it comported with an elderly captain’s dignity to take a personal part in the search. Burton eyed him anxiously, hoping that he would go, meet the approaching German, and take him with him. The pause was brief. The temptation to catch a live Englishman overbore all considerations of dignity. With a word of thanks to Burton the Turk cantered on towards the big tree. Burton breathed again. He hurried back to the seaplane. "Slip the knots, Dick," he said, "but don’t get up. I’ll give you the word. I hope I’ve got rid of the Turk for a while." He was in the act of pouring petrol into the tank when a figure appeared from round the western base of the knoll. It was a big Sancho-Panza-like person, mounted on a mule.