he had traversed the street without discovering anything to
alarm him, he breathed more freely and turned into another,
stretching his legs in a brisk walk instead of keeping to his
furtive, silent glide.

This street, like the last, appeared to be deserted, but the houses
showed signs of rough treatment; windows were broken, doors smashed,
mounds of plaster, brick, and wood lay scattered about, evidences of
the wanton work of the looting hordes that had no doubt recently
visited it.

As he neared the end of this unwholesome, wretched place, he fancied
he saw the faint flicker of a light from one of the windows, and he
hurriedly made his way towards it.

His senses had not deceived him, the house was inhabited--but by
whom? He paused outside and looked up at the window. The light was
gone, but the sound of voices inside cheered his heart. He stood for
a moment listening. At first he could not make out the language that
was being spoken, but after a while, as his ear became accustomed to
the confused tongues, he detected one voice speaking in his own
language.

His heart beat high with hope, and he strained his ear against the
wood-work of the walls. There evidently were many persons inside and
of mixed nationality. This gave him his cue; if all these people of
different tongues were gathered together in one house it could only
mean one thing--refugees.

Without speculating further he tapped on the shuttered window of the
ground floor, and waited. Immediately the voices inside ceased. He
tapped again, louder than before. A moment after, the shutter of the
window above was cautiously opened, and against the dim light of the
sky he saw a head protruded.

The night was so dark he could not make out whether the head was
that of a white man or not, but he inclined to the latter belief,
and summoning all his best Arabic, he asked for shelter for the
night.

"I have money to pay," he added, "but have nowhere to sleep."

There was a grunt as the head was withdrawn and another face
appeared in its place. There was no mistaking it this time, it was
distinctly white, and when a voice came in English--

"Who are you and what do you want?" Helmar's heart gave an
instinctive leap for joy.

"These are queer times," the speaker went on, "and I do not care to
do business with every passing stranger."

"I am a German," replied Helmar in the same language, "and am a
stranger just come to the city from Cairo. I do not know