'Father had a pretty hot temper, there was a flaming row, and Henkel went
off, vowing vengeance.

'He got it, too. A couple of years later, came the big row in the Balkans,
and the war had hardly started before dad was arrested as a spy.'

'Henkel did that?' put in Burney.

'Henkel did it;' young Carrington's voice was very grim. 'Pretty
thoroughly too, as I heard afterwards. They took him to Constantinople,
and--and I've never seen him since.'

There was silence for some moments while the big ship ploughed steadily
north-eastwards through the night.

'And you?' said Burney at last.

'I--I'd have shared the same fate if it hadn't been for old Othman Pasha.
He was a pal of ours, as white a man as you want to meet, and he got me
away and over the border into Greece. It was in Thrace that I saw
fighting. I came right through it, and got mixed up in two pretty stiff
skirmishes.'

'My word, you've seen something!' said Burney. 'And--and, by Jove, I
suppose you understand the language.'

'Yes,' said Carrington quietly. 'I know the language and the people. And
you can take it from me that the Turks are not as black as they're
painted. It's Enver Bey and his crazy crowd who have rushed them into this
business. Three-quarters of 'em hate the war, and infinitely prefer the