*CHAPTER VIII*
*SONS OF THE DESERT*
The tropical sun looked fiercely down upon the burning sands of theHamadian Desert. North, south, east and west, as far as the eye couldreach, in every direction, the illimitable waste of desert stretched,save only at one pleasant, fertile spot, where a cluster of date andlofty palm trees fringed the banks of a silent pool.
A small encampment of Bedouins, sons of the desert, fierce-looking andproud, occupied this charming spot. Three small tents and a larger one,a camouflaged fabric, part of the loot of the garrison of Kut, completedthe camp. There were a dozen men all told, and as many noble, fieryArab steeds. The men were well armed, with modern weapons, too. Therehad been too much loot in the Mesopotamian campaign during recent yearsfor the Arab sheik and his followers to find much difficulty in securingthe very pick of European weapons, ammunition and equipment. But onething was evident--all these men were not real sons of the desert.Three of them at least were Europeans, as the reader will shortlyperceive.
An atmosphere of subdued excitement, primed with expectancy, seemed topervade the camp. The whole party were eagerly watching and waiting forsomething. But what caravan, with its tinkling bells, its camels andspices, its rich silks and ladings from Persia or from Damascus hadawakened the predatory instincts of these kings of the desert? Besides,were they not too few in number to engage a well-armed band of Baghdadmerchants?
Nay, it was no rich argosy of the desert that these fierce men expected;their eyes were directed one and all towards the skies, for the days hadnow arrived of which the poet spoke, when he
"Saw the heavens filled with commerce, Argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight, Dropping down with costly bales;"
and they were awaiting, with evil intent, the passing of the AerialMail, which they knew to be carrying vast treasures of gold and otherprecious things from India to Cairo and Europe.
The three Europeans who had collected and organised these robber chiefs,by appealing to their hereditary instincts, were none other than ourfriends, Rittmeister von Spitzer, and his companions Carl and Max, theGerman irreconcilables, whom we left in the dark shadows of theSchwarzwald preparing for their adventure.
Already they had made a name greater than Muller of the _Emden_, butthey had made themselves outlaws of the nations of the world, and thoughfor a little while success and fame might attend them, yet they knewthat sooner or later the agreed price of their adventure would be death.
"What news of the British air-liner, Max?" called von Spitzer, as hissubordinate descended by a rope ladder from one of the smaller trees,where an observation post had been fixed, and an aerial mounted, for thepurposes of wireless telegraphy and telephony.
"She left Delhi at mid-day yesterday, sir," replied the operator,unclamping the receivers which till now had been fixed over his ears.
"Then she's running to scheduled time?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was it the official departure message that you tapped?"
"It must have been, Rittmeister, for it announced that a distinguishedpassenger had joined her at the last moment."
"Indeed! What was his name? Did you discover it?" asked theflight-commander, who, to maintain his influence over the wild sons ofthe desert, was wearing the loose, flowing robes of an Arab sheik,richly emblazoned and adorned.
"His name was the Maharajah of Bangalore," replied Max, the erstwhileGotha pilot.
"What! the miscreant! He was the man who raised thirty thousand Indiantroops for the Mesopotamian campaign, and made it possible for theBritish to advance on Baghdad after their disaster at Kut."
"That accounts for it. He is to be decorated at St. James's Palace forsome eminent services he has rendered to the British Government."
"We're in luck's way, Max. I may spare his life, as I do not seek totake any man's life who does not oppose me. But it's a thousand to onehe's carrying his jewels and his household gods with him; it is thecustom of these eastern potentates. I will strip him as the locuststrips the vine. I will give his jewels to these brave Arabs; it willconfirm my hold upon them. We may need their help upon anotheroccasion. But, this is by the way, was there anything from theprofessor?"
"Only this, Rittmeister; I have waited since dawn for it," and theoperator handed to Spitzer a cryptic message of seven letters, which, tothe receiver at least was quite unintelligible. Max had pencilled itdown as follows:--"X--G--P--C--V--S--M," for it had come through theether by wireless telegraphy and not by wireless telephone, like thefirst message. The reason was obvious. One message was for publicintelligence and for use in the newspapers, and the other was for moresecret and sinister purposes. The cryptogram had come from theprofessor, who, with his mechanic, had been left behind in theSchwarzwald to collect information for the brigands, and to obtainfurther supplies of uranis for the _Scorpion_.
The Rittmeister eagerly grasped the little strip of paper on which themessage was written, and retired to the small hangar where the_Scorpion_ was pegged down and stowed away, remarking:--
"This is evidently urgent; I must get the cipher-key and decode it atonce. Meantime, I want you to rehearse the men in the parts they are toplay, and give Carl a hand with the vibration drum. The great liner isalmost due. You may tell the sheik that in addition to the large cargoof gold which the airship carries, an Indian Prince with jewels worth aking's ransom is on board."
"Your orders shall be carried out, Rittmeister," replied Max, who wasglad to be relieved of his monotonous task of listening hour after hourfor coded messages, and looked forward with some pleasure to the comingadventure.
Shortly afterwards, Max, having delivered his message to the Arabianchief, was standing beside Carl under the shadow of a cluster of treeson the very margin of the pool. That wonderful instrument, thevibrative drum, which is fashioned somewhat on the principle of thehuman ear, but with a large horn-shaped receptacle for receiving thevery minutest sound waves, and focussing them on to a very sensitivedrum, was engaging their attention.
Every now and then, when they fancied they heard a sound that broke thestillness of the desert, they would listen acutely, turning the hornthis way and that way to discover whence came the sound.
"They are due about mid-day, the chief says," remarked Carl, after abrief pause in their conversation. "What time do you make it now?"
"A quarter of an hour yet," responded Max, consulting his chronometer,and making a rapid calculation to allow for the difference in longitude,for he still carried Central European time.
"And they're sure to follow the 30th parallel?"
"Yes, it's their shortest route," replied the wireless expert.
"Then they should pass within three or four miles from here," observedCarl.
"Yes, unless they've drifted a little out of their course."
"But we should hear them on the vibrator even if they were fifty milesaway in a silent land like this."
"Undoubtedly."
"Listen! Can you hear anything?" exclaimed Max in a slightly nervoustone, after a brief silence.
"No, I don't think so, but those fellows over there must be quiet;they're getting excited about the promised loot."
"Go and tell them, Carl; you speak the best Arabic."
The German left the drum for a moment and after expostulating for awhile with the sheik, he gained his point and the word was passed alongfor silence.
The Arabs were greatly mystified by this strange instrument, as well asby those aerial wires affixed to the trees, and most of all by thatstrange, weird machine, hidden away behind the sand-proof curtains ofthe little camouflaged hangar, like the sacred ark in the holy ofholies.
With wondering eyes they had on occasion watched the _Scorpion_ mount tothe heavens with marvellous ease and descend with like facility--bearingits human burden aloft to the very skies and bringing them safely toearth again.
These strange gods which the inf
idels had brought with them to theirdesert home were greatly feared even by these brave, proud men, and itwas only the largesse and the promise of still better things to come,from the great white chief, which prevented these sons of the desertfrom leaving this dreaded spot.
The scout pilot, having obtained his wish, now returned to theinstrument, for his companion was already beckoning to him. Evidentlythe approach of the airship had been indicated by the sensitive drum,but, ere Carl reached the margin of the pool, he noticed the Rittmeisteremerge from the hangar where he had been decoding the message, and wavefor him to approach.
"What is it, Rittmeister?" he called.
"The message. Come here a moment!"
Max, who thought that a faint sound he had just heard from theinstrument might portend the distant approach of the liner, left thedrum, for he knew there would be plenty of time, and joined the othertwo by the hangar on the other side of the pool, for he also was curiousabout the cryptic message, which he had taken earlier in the day.
"Was it from the professor?" he asked in his first breath.
"Yes, he is in for a bad time, I fear," replied the Rittmeister. "Hewill not be able to communicate again for some time."
"What is the matter?" asked the others simultaneously.
"Why, Keane and Sharpe are on his track again. You know the rascals;they were secret service pilots and spies during the war, and now theyare scout pilots in the British aerial police. They're the left-handand the right hand of that confounded Tempest, the little tin god atScotland Yard, and the brains of the aerial police."
"Himmel! I hope he can outwit them," exclaimed Carl. "They're keenbirds, both of them, and they have some exploits to their credit."
"If he can't, then the length of our existence is the capacity of thoseremaining eight cylinders of uranis," ventured Max.
"And the length of the rope round our necks as well," murmured hiscompanion.
They all laughed at this, but Spitzer looked keenly for an instant intothe eyes of the two pilots, as though he would search their innermostsouls, and make sure that they would be game to the end. But theyevidently read his thoughts also, for Max announced:--
"It's all right, Rittmeister; we're not going back upon our word. Thedie is cast!" and Carl in a brave attempt at another sally, added:--
"The cast is--die!" at which they all laughed again, as the old seapirates laughed before they blew up their ship, when they saw that thegame was up.
The next instant their thoughts were diverted to another subject. Itwas already mid-day, for the sun by his altitude announced it. As theyapproached the drum, they could now distinctly hear the hum of mightyengines though still forty miles away, recorded in that delicateinstrument, and one thought, uttered or unexpressed, came instinctivelyto each mind:--
"Aircraft approaching!"