He needed no invitation to hurry into the car. As soon as Abdul was aboard Tom started the engines. To his consternation the airship again refused to rise.

“Good heavens! what a weight you must be!” he exclaimed.

“Colossal! But I lose pounds in ze——”

“Oh, shut up!” cried Oliphant impatiently. “We can’t make another journey, Dorrell. The cover won’t support the stones much longer with those ruffians smashing the wood as they’re doing.”

He had scarcely spoken when the woodwork gave way, the stones crashed down the staircase, and there were cries of pain and alarm from the men beneath. But it was impossible to suppose that they were all hurt, and the passage was now clear for the rest. Something must be done at once to gain a little time until the problem of removing Schwab’s colossal weight could be solved.

Stopping his engines, which were working furiously, but with no effect, Tom, followed by Oliphant and the Moor, jumped from the car and hurried towards the opening. They were greeted by a musket shot; but Tom, seizing a big stone, threw it with all his force into the black room beneath. There were more cries from below, repeated when Oliphant and the Moor followed suit, each with missiles of the same character. Then there was silence for a time. The Moors were apparently nonplussed.

“You can find your way to the hill if I land you below?” asked Tom of Abdul.

“Yes, master.”

“Hold the roof, Oliphant. I won’t be ten minutes. Don’t shoot ’em unless you’re very hard pressed.”

Tom and the Moor sprang into the car, the airship again ascended, and came down about a quarter of a mile from the village walls. There was nobody in sight; without doubt the whole population of the place was congregated about the kasbah. Once more Tom ascended, alighting on the roof just as Oliphant, using the wooden shaft of Abdul’s hammer, was driving back one man, more venturesome than the rest, who had attempted to make his way up. There was no time to carry more stones from the coping to serve as missiles, so Tom and Oliphant at last fired their revolvers, two shots each, taking care, however, to avoid the opening. Tom hoped that the sound of the shots would give pause to the men below, most of whom must have hitherto been unaware that the intruders carried firearms.

Immediately after they had fired, the two made a dash for the car, scrambled aboard, and set the engines in motion.

“Gott sei Dank!” cried Schwab again, as the airship rose steadily above the roof.

As if they had known by some intuition what was happening, the Moors at this moment made a rush, and before the airship had sailed a hundred yards from the kasbah, figures appeared on the roof. A moment afterwards one or two shots were fired, but they were without effect; the airship sailed on, pursued by yells of baffled rage.

In order to draw away pursuit from his real direction, Tom headed the airship north-east, and it was not until he was well out of sight of the kasbah that he put the helm up and steered straight for the hill-top.

“We’ve come out of this uncommonly well,” said Oliphant. “I was on thorns all the time you and Abdul were absent.”

“We’re not out of it yet,” rejoined Tom. “The fuel’s nearly done. These comings and goings have used a terrible lot of the paste, and I doubt whether there’s enough to make one journey to the yacht—let alone two. I didn’t reckon on another passenger besides Ingleton.”

“Who is this freak? You seem to know him?” Oliphant spoke quietly: Herr Schwab was lying against the rail of the car only a few feet away.

“Met him once. His name’s Schwab; he’s an agent for the company I get my powder from. Haven’t had time yet to ask him how he got into this mess. I say, it looks as if a storm is coming up.”

“Yes, the wind’s rising, and the clouds are scudding along at a great pace. How will she behave in a storm?”

“Don’t know, and don’t want to know just now. We should be in a pretty hobble if the machine were to get smashed up altogether.”

While Tom and Oliphant were thus talking in low tones, Herr Schwab was deeply ruminating. He had been struck, on the roof of the kasbah, by something familiar in the speech of this Englishman who was masquerading as a Moor, but in the agitation of the moment he could not sift his recollections. Now, however, safe in the car of an aeroplane, sailing with almost imperceptible motion through the air, he was taking the opportunity to search his memory. Just as the airship arrived above the hill-top where Sir Mark Ingleton was waiting, and Tom was preparing to descend, he was startled by a loud exclamation from the German.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nozink, nozink at all. I know you vat you are. Mr. Thomas Dorrell! And ze Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six. I know all about him; jawohl! Zere are business for Schlagintwert: I do not mind ze captivities now: business are business.”

Oliphant looked inquiringly at Tom; but the moment was not propitious for explanations. Tom’s whole attention was engaged by the machinery. The airship alighted without mishap, and Tom as he stepped out of the car was greeted by Sir Mark Ingleton.

“I have a new conception of the music of the spheres,” he said. “Your approach was heralded by an immense humming, which, I take it, will discount the usefulness of the airship in time of war.”

“Zat vill be chance for Schlagintwert,” interposed Schwab: “to invent somezink vat stop ze row.”

“Precisely,” said Sir Mark, with a faint smile.

“How do you feel now, sir?” asked Tom.

“Greatly invigorated by the fresh air. I am glad of your coat. May I know to whom I am indebted for this surprising change in my fortunes?”

“My name’s Dorrell,” said Tom. “I happened to be rather lucky in getting my airship to go just when it could be made useful.”

“Viz Schlagintwert’s Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six,” added Schwab.

“This is Mr. Oliphant, Lord Langside’s son,” Tom went on.

“Indeed!” With fine courtesy Sir Mark perfectly concealed his amazement. Oliphant still wore his stoker’s clothes, and the black smudges on his face had given him a striking resemblance to a coal-heaver. “I am grateful to the Prime Minister for this novel and adventurous expedition,” added the envoy.

“My father knows nothing about it, sir,” said Oliphant. “We were afraid he wouldn’t allow it if we told him.”

“I see. Nothing succeeds like success. Did you come all the way from England in this admirable machine?”

“No, sir. We were brought out on Mr. Greatorex’s yacht, which is now waiting for us at the shore.”

“That is good news, for in truth, seeing the limited carrying capacity of your airship, I had wondered how we were all to get away.”

“That’s our difficulty, sir. Our fuel is almost gone, and I’m very much afraid there isn’t enough left to make even one journey back to the yacht. There’s plenty on board, if we can manage to reach it.”

“In that case perhaps you and Mr. Oliphant had better return without us. If you reach the yacht safely, you can come back and fetch us; if you do not—well, things will be no worse than they were.”

“I don’t care about doing that, sir. We came out to rescue you. I think you had better come with us. Our fuel may last out; the sooner you are safe aboard the yacht the better; and if we only get within sight of her it will be all right, for Mr. Greatorex will certainly send a boat’s crew to fetch us off.”

“Had you not better take Mr. Schwab first? He has been in captivity longer than I.”

“And I have vair important business,” said Schwab eagerly.

“I think my arrangement is best, sir. You see, your position is a matter of state importance—international importance, I might say; all Europe is more or less interested in your fate, whereas——”

“Ach!” interrupted Schwab, “zey insult me, ze Mohrs; me, a Jarman sobjeck; zerefore zey insult also our Kaiser, who is in Berlin. Zat is important.”

“With all respect to your Kaiser, Mr. Schwab,” said Tom, “we are three to one here, and I think the interests of the majority must prevail.”

“But ze population of Jarmany is grosser zan ze population of Great Britain. Ve grow vair fast.”

“Therefore your Kaiser can spare one individual better than our King. We must settle it so, Mr. Schwab. We’ll take Sir Mark to the yacht and then come back for you—as we have already done.”

“But if you forget—vere am I zen? Mr. Greatorex is business man, perhaps he vant to make haste for home. Besides, you try to keep ze secret of ze Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six. I discover ze secret. You vant to keep me out, so zat I shall not take out patent for Schlagintwert. Zat is business!”

“You may take my word for it that we’ll come back for you,” said Tom patiently. Oliphant was fuming: Sir Mark Ingleton was quietly enjoying the situation. “And here’s Abdul.” The young Moor at this moment came over the brow of the hill. “Perhaps he will stay and keep you company.”

“I have enough gombany of ze Mohrs,” said Schwab dismally. “Give notice, I shall have big claim for damage. Ze loss of business is colossal.”

“You’ll make it up when you put your Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six on the market under a new name. Abdul, you will stay with Mr. Schwab until we get back?”

Abdul agreed at once. In the event of a party coming from Ain Afroo to capture him he could retreat to the caves, which were so difficult of access that he might hope to defy attack for a time, even if his hiding-place were discovered. The chief difficulty would be food and water; but he could slip down into the woods before daybreak and gather a quantity of fruit; perhaps also snare one or two wild animals; and if Tom would leave behind the now almost empty canister in which he kept the fuel for the engines, he could fill that with water from the hill springs.

Schwab’s countenance, as he heard these arrangements discussed, was that of a man very ill at ease. But he had apparently come to the conclusion that further protest would be unavailing, and he held his peace, summing up in his mind, possibly, the amount of his future claim for damages. Tom handed Abdul his revolver, for use in the last resort; then followed Oliphant and the envoy into the car.

“You keep your vord!” cried Schwab, as the airship rose into the now overclouded sky.

Tom set the engines at half speed, partly to husband his fuel, partly because, moon and stars being now obscured, he felt the same kind of reluctance to go fast that a driver would feel in going through a dark country lane. It was a little before three in the morning. He hoped to reach the yacht about dawn, though, having in the darkness no means of guiding his course, he foresaw the possibility of going out of the way. But a strong wind had blown up from the east, and with this at his back he knew that he must in due time reach the sea. Rain began to fall, at first in large scattered drops, finally in a steady downpour, and when the grey dawn at last broke through the sky, all three occupants of the car were thoroughly drenched and miserable.

Tom had anxiously watched his fuel supply. When the rain ceased and the sky became clearer, and he caught sight of the sea afar off, he saw that there was not the smallest chance of reaching the shore.

“How far is it, do you think?” asked Oliphant.

“More than ten miles, I fancy. I’ve scraped up the last ounces of paste; we shall be lucky if it carries us another five miles.”

“And what then?”

“Goodness knows! I don’t know what part of the shore we are heading for. We may be miles north or south of the yacht for all I can tell.”

“Will they see us on board?”

“Don’t think so. You see, the yacht, when we left her, was moored pretty close inshore, and, unless she runs out a good way, the cliffs will intercept the view. By Jove! we haven’t come far wrong, though. You see those two islands? I noticed them from the deck. They’re a few miles south of where we lay to. Here goes the last of the fuel, Oliphant; we can’t keep up more than five minutes. The only thing to be done is to let her down at a suitable spot, and then gain the shore on foot, and attract the attention of some one on board. No doubt they’re keeping a pretty keen lookout.”

They were now passing over a considerable stretch of wooded country. But as Tom was looking about for a place convenient for landing, he saw to his consternation that they were within sight of a village of some size. The airship was no more than six hundred feet from the ground: Tom had not dared to keep it at any greater altitude, and he could scarcely hope that it had escaped observation. To descend at once was absolutely imperative: yet a descent in full sight of the village would certainly bring unwelcome and hostile visitors. In order to stave off, even for a time, the inevitable, he selected a spot that seemed to be about a couple of miles from the village—a large clearing in the midst of the wood, about halfway up a gently rising hill. There he dropped gently to earth.

The airship had scarcely come to rest before he saw, from the village below, a party of horsemen issuing at full speed from the gate. Tom counted more than a dozen men, and within a minute these were followed by another dozen.

“We’re in for it now,” he said. “They’ll be on us in a few minutes.”

“We can’t fight ’em with only one revolver and a carbine,” said Oliphant ruefully. “They’ll collar us and hold us to ransom—perhaps we’ll all find ourselves before long in the kasbah of Ain Afroo.”

“May I make a suggestion?” said Sir Mark Ingleton. “The airship has failed us; we are, it appears, about to be surrounded by horsemen who are doubtless well armed; flight is therefore impossible. It is equally impossible, as Mr. Oliphant says, to fight. Before now, in similar circumstances, diplomacy has been of some avail; and it is but right that I, in whose behalf you gentlemen have been brought to your present plight, should exercise my poor abilities in disentangling the knot.”

“What do you propose, sir?” asked Tom, inwardly remarking that diplomacy seemed to make a man tolerably long-winded.

“It is that Mr. Oliphant and myself should go forth to meet these children of nature, waving a white handkerchief as if to welcome them. I will explain to them, in terms they will comprehend, and with a sufficient regard for the truth, what our situation is. They will doubtless convey us to their village, whether they believe me or not. In the meantime you, Mr. Dorrell, will have hidden yourself in a tree—no difficult feat to a man of your years; and when you see a fitting opportunity, you will steal your way to the shore, rejoin your friends on the yacht, and take such steps as may suggest themselves in consultation with them to effect our release.”

“A capital idea!” said Tom.

“But can we do it? Can you speak to the Moors in their own tongue?” asked Oliphant.

“My dear fellow, your father selected me for this mission precisely on account of my knowledge of Arabic,” said Sir Mark. “If these Riffians do not understand me, it will be because my speech is so much purer than theirs.”

“Well, good luck to you!” cried Tom. “I’m off before they see me.”

And donning his djellab, which he had spread on the ground to dry, he disappeared among the trees.

CHAPTER XIII—DIPLOMACY

“And with thee, peace!” returned the leader of the party, looking not a little surprised at this orthodox salutation from a N’zrani.

“In the name of the most Merciful!” Sir Mark continued. “Thou dost behold us in sore straits, O Son of the Mountain. We are brothers under our skin, thou and I, and I crave thy help.”

“Bismillah! I am thy host, and all that I have is thine.”

“Thou sayest well. Behold this strange monster that lieth on the ground beyond us. It was made by a countryman of mine, to simulate the flying of birds in the air—a most wondrous thing, and worthy to be seen by his Shereefian Majesty the Sultan himself. I was indeed on my way to visit the Sultan, but was prevented by a most untoward happening. (That is strictly true, though the fact is somewhat post-dated,” he added in an aside.) “Even a bird tires with overmuch flying; and, as thou seest, this thing that imitates the flying of a bird tires also, so much so, indeed, that we saw that its wings would not carry us the full extent of our journey, and we were on our way back to the coast in order to repair its strength, when it failed us utterly. Wherefore, friend, we ask thee to lend us the assistance of some sturdy men from your village to carry our poor bird to Casa Blanca, or to any ship that may chance to be off your shore. (They may have seen the yacht.) For this service we will reward them liberally.”

“Bismillah!” ejaculated the Moor. Oliphant, watching his face during Sir Mark’s address, had caught a fleeting expression of perplexity and disappointment. Expecting to make an out-and-out capture, he was no doubt somewhat nonplussed at this request for assistance. But he had the Moor’s ready adaptability to circumstances. His speech gave no sign of his thoughts.

“Bismillah!” he repeated. “We are all in God’s hands. Let my brother give thanks to Allah the most Merciful that he came to a man so friendly disposed as Salaam son of Absalaam. It shall be even as thou wishest, Sidi. But first thou and thy son must come to my village, for your bird yonder is too heavy to be carried without much preparation. It will need the shoulders of a great number of men. But while the men are making ready, enter my house, all too unworthy to shelter you: yet we will comfort you with food, and do all that is in our power to please our guests.”

“We thank thee, O Salaam, for thy proffered hospitality, which we will accept, knowing that all things will be provided for our comfort.”

“So be it, Sidi. But within the walls of my village, when I first looked heavenwards and saw this strange flying thing, did I not see three men borne along in it, and one of them in djellab something like my own?”

Sir Mark smiled and, pointing to a part of the apparatus that was coloured grey, said—

“No doubt in the distance my brother mistook that for a person. We are two, as thou seest.”

The Moor still looked somewhat mistrustfully around. Then, with an appearance of being convinced, he dismounted, and ordered his followers to dismount also, asking his guest to choose whichever of the horses he pleased for himself and his son. At this imputation of kinship, Sir Mark elevated his eyebrows; the young man was certainly a disreputable-looking object. Thinking it policy to accept the offer, Sir Mark mounted the head-man’s own steed, Oliphant following his example with the horse of one of his party. Then, bidding a score of the men lift the airship on their shoulders, the head-man and the rest remounted, and led the way to the village. Both Sir Mark and Oliphant were glad that the distance was not great, for the high Moorish saddles were a sore trial to their unaccustomed limbs. The envoy, at any rate, was under no delusion as to the nature of the hospitality promised. From the manner in which the tribesmen escorted the two Englishmen to the village, there could be little doubt that they were prisoners.

From his perch in the tree Tom noticed that although the majority of the horsemen accompanied his friends towards the walls, four or five detached themselves from the party and returned to the plantation, which they proceeded to search pretty thoroughly. He made himself as small as he could among the foliage when they passed beneath him, but they did not look up; apparently it did not occur to them that any one should have mounted into a tree. When they had finished their fruitless search, they went, not in the direction their fellow-villagers had taken, but towards the coast. Tom saw them spread out as they rode from the plantation, and watched them until they were mere specks in the distance. Then, when they were, he supposed, perfectly satisfied that the suspected third member of the English party could not have escaped them, they wheeled round and returned one by one again passing not far from his hiding-place. Clearly, if they were so suspicious, it would be expedient for him to remain for some time in the tree—an unpleasant prospect, for he was becoming very stiff and cramped, and suffering rather severely from hunger and thirst.

It was some hours before he ventured to slip to the ground. Even then he did not dare to leave the shelter of the wood, knowing that in the open he would inevitably be observed. But he stretched his limbs and found a few blackberries, which somewhat appeased his hunger. Every now and then he again climbed the tree to find out whether any one was approaching, or whether a watch was still being kept. Late in the afternoon he descried, on the further side of the village, a horseman approaching from the direction of the hills. He came at full gallop, and rode straight into the village, disappearing there from Tom’s view.

“Hope to goodness he isn’t a messenger from the sheikh!” thought Tom.

At last, when the sun had set, and the sky was darkening, he deemed it safe to leave his hiding-place. If the yacht had remained where he had last seen her—and it was scarcely likely that Mr. Greatorex would shift his anchorage—he conjectured that a five mile walk would bring him to the nearest point of the shore. Fortunately it was a beautiful night, clear and starlit, though the moon had not yet risen. Taking his bearings very carefully by the stars, in anticipation of a return journey, he started, going very slowly and cautiously, watching every shadow lest it should indicate the presence of a Moor. Ignorant of their language, he knew well that he had no chance whatever of slipping past if he were once accosted. In such a case he could trust only to his lightness of foot. But nothing happened to cause him uneasiness, and after trudging along for nearly two hours he was beyond measure delighted to see what was evidently a masthead light some distance out at sea. No native craft would show a light; he could hardly doubt that the Dandy Dinmont and his friends were before him.

He was quickening his step in the pleasure of this discovery, when suddenly, without warning, he found himself at the edge of an encampment lying in a slight hollow at the summit of the cliffs. He started back, but it was too late. A Moor, swathed in his hooded djellab, came out of the darkness and spoke to him. Tom saw that it might be fatal to run now; he walked on, hoping that he might pass without replying. But the Moor spoke again, more sharply, in a more questioning tone. Tom, whose head was covered with the hood, mumbled something beneath his breath; but his unpractised tongue could not achieve the hard guttural accent of the Moorish speech, and the sentinel took a hasty step towards him.

There was now nothing for it but to take to his heels. Disguise was no longer possible, and, to free his limbs, he cast the djellab from him, and dashed at full speed across the grass to the edge of the cliff. The slope was steep, but he scarcely gave a thought to the risks he ran. Scrambling over, he lay down and rolled from top to bottom, with many a gash and bruise from sharp edges of the rock.

Loud shouts pursued him. The camp was aroused. Picking himself up, feeling breathless and dazed, he sped across the sandy stretch of beach and sent a sounding hail in the direction of the yacht; perchance his voice might carry above the rustle of the surf and the cries of his pursuers. He heard men scurrying down a path in the cliff somewhere behind him; then their footsteps on the light shingle that lay above the sand. Even if his cry had been heard on the yacht, it was impossible that a boat should reach him before he was overtaken. There was only one way to safety. He plunged into the surf, and struck out towards the vessel. A shot followed him, but he cared nothing for that; in the darkness it would puzzle an expert marksman to hit him, when nothing of him could be seen but a head bobbing up and down. Not till he had swum well out of the reach of his pursuers, who had not followed him into the sea, did the thought of sharks cross his mind. Then he trod water for a little, and, making a bell of his hands, sent another prolonged cry across the water.

Is that an answering hail? He shouts once more; yes, a cry comes back to him: “Ahoy-o!” But at the same moment he hears also the sound of paddles, to his right, apparently from a bend of the shore. The Moors have not given him up, then. Again he presses on, putting all his force into a strong side-stroke. Now another sound falls upon his ear; the welcome sound of oars plied sturdily in rowlocks. The yacht’s boat is coming to meet him. But the pursuers are the nearer—will his friends arrive in time? His long exertions since he left the yacht, his want of food and sleep, have robbed him of his strength. His pace becomes slower and slower. The pursuers’ boat is coming up behind, while yet the beat of oars before him sounds terribly distant. But he is still swimming; every yard he makes is a yard added to the speed of the friendly boat. He struggled on; and the Moors were still some distance behind when, gasping and spent, he was helped by Timothy and another into his ark of safety.

But the boat did not head at once for the yacht.

“Give way, men!” cried Captain Bodgers himself, at the tiller.

He pointed the nose of the boat straight for the Moors’ light craft. Eight sturdy British sailors pulled with a will. There was a crash, a cry, and a dozen Moors were in the water, struggling to right their capsized boat.

“That’s all right. Now we’ll get back, my men,” said Captain Bodgers, and some few minutes thereafter Tom was assisted up the side of the yacht, and into the arms of Mr. Greatorex.

“God bless my soul, what has happened?” said the worthy merchant.

“We’ve got him—Ingleton,” murmured Tom faintly. “He’s with Oliphant, captured again. Schwab’s in the cave with Abdul.”

“He’s light-headed, poor fellow!” said Mr. Greatorex. “Here, some one, blankets, and brandy—look alive now.”

Tom was soon stripped, dried, swathed in warm blankets, and dosed with brandy till his blood tingled. Mr. Greatorex fussed round him, waiving his proffered explanations until he was thoroughly recovered. Then Tom gave him an account of all that had happened since he left the yacht, Mr. Greatorex breaking in every now and then with “Dear, dear!” “You don’t say so!” “The villains!” “What a mercy!” and such like exclamations. Early in the narrative he interrupted with a question:

“You say Oliphant! Who’s Oliphant? Am I on my head or my heels?”

“Oh, I forgot you didn’t know,” said Tom with a smile. “Your new stoker was Oliphant in disguise. You see, Byles, your late stoker, had to remain at home and attend to his sick mother.”

“No more sick than I am!” declared Mr. Greatorex. “Don’t believe he had a mother! M’Cracken, indeed! I’ll M’Cracken him! I hope his father will get him well thrashed when he goes back to school.”

“He’s rather big for that, don’t you think?”

“The bigger the better! I never heard of such a thing! The impudence of it! And taking us all in so! What things are coming to I don’t know. No obedience, no respect for age—pretending to be Scotch, too——”

“Well, he is Scotch, you know.”

“Don’t tell me! He’s only Scotch when it suits him. There are others like him in the Lords. He was never Scotch in my house—where he shall never show his face again, never!”

Tom was not deceived by this explosion of wrath. He knew very well that Mr. Greatorex was only relieving the tension of his feelings, and working off his nervous excitability on the most convenient object. “Les absents ont toujours tort,” he remembered. Mr. Greatorex presently calmed down, and heard the rest of the story in comparative quietude.

“And what are we to do?” he said at the close. “Swob doesn’t matter; we’re not bound to lift a finger for him; but we can’t leave Ingleton and M’C—— and Oliphant in the hands of those wretches. They’ll break up our machine, too, and play the very deuce with my property. What are we to do?”

What Tom answered is shown by subsequent events. Two or three hours after his return to the yacht, when he had had a thorough rest and a good meal, a well-armed party, consisting of the whole ship’s company except the cook and one seaman, left the yacht, on which all lights had been extinguished, and rowed with muffled oars to a sheltered cove on the south side of the bay—that furthest removed from the Arab encampment. Mr. Greatorex had insisted on joining the party. In vain Tom pointed out that a hard march was before them, suggesting delicately that Mr. Greatorex was not so light as he once was. The merchant puffed the objection away. They disembarked in dead silence, and, leaving two of their number to take the boat back to the yacht, made their way cautiously up the cliff.

Led by Tom, the party, ten in all, struck off in the direction of the village. Thanks to the light of the moon, which now lay a little above the horizon, Tom was able to make a fairly straight course for the plantation in which he had hidden during the previous day. Once or twice he strayed from the proper track, and ultimately found that he was nearly a mile from his objective; but this was not bad, considering that there was no beaten road, and they had to tramp across rough country. When he reached the plantation he was no longer in doubt as to the true direction; during his long stay among the trees he had had time to take his bearings pretty thoroughly.

Mr. Greatorex was blown by the time they came to the clearing in which the airship had descended, and Tom begged him to remain hidden in the plantation while the rest went on to the village.

“Pff!” panted the perspiring old gentleman. “Never gave up anything yet; on you go!”

But a slight halt was made while Tom completed arrangements for his night raid. The village was walled; the gates would no doubt be shut, as at Ain Afroo; the wall must be scaled. Captain Bodgers selected the biggest men to give their more active comrades a “leg-up.” These latter were provided with ropes, by which they might haul up the others when they had themselves gained a footing on the wall. Tom impressed on them all the necessity of maintaining dead silence. He estimated that the village contained about a hundred fighting men, and if the approach of the raiders were discovered in time for the walls to be manned, the chance of a successful coup would be small indeed.

All carried firearms except Mr. Greatorex. He had a knobbed stick, capable of dealing a very damaging blow.

“There’s bound to be a fight, I suppose?” he had said when Tom was discussing his plans on the yacht. “I don’t like that, you know. I’d punch a man’s nose and knock him down without scruple, of course; but that needn’t kill him, you know. Besides, how do I stand? This is uncommonly like a piratical raid—like Jameson’s, and he might have been hanged. However!”

Tom assured him that no blood should be shed if it could possibly be avoided; but he had small hopes that the night would end without a fight, and a very brisk one.

The party set off for the village, stealing along under what cover was afforded by bushes and inequalities in the ground. When about three hundred yards from the wall all such protection ceased; the ground was level and apparently open. Tom’s heart was in his mouth lest their footsteps should be heard as they crossed this. He dared not set them at a run, for the soil all around was stony, and the sound of near a dozen men rushing at speed could not fail to be heard in the village. So he kept up the same stealthy approach, and his caution was justified, for level as the space had appeared at a distance, it proved to have patches of loose stones, and some yards of boggy land, through which ran a narrow and evil-smelling creek; to rush would have ended in disaster.

They arrived beneath the wall without having heard any alarm raised within. In a trice the men began to clamber up. It was made of mud and rubble, and was not in so ruinous a condition as the wall of Ain Afroo. The first man reached the top. Immediately there was a shout and the sound of hurrying feet, and Tom sprang up to the sailor’s side in time to see a Moor in long djellab dashing from the nearest house towards the wall. Suddenly he halted, and fired. The young sailor winced as the bullet struck him; but he was not badly hurt, and letting down his rope, calmly proceeded to haul up one of his comrades. After firing, the Moor made a rush along the wall. Tom grappled with him; both fell, dropping their weapons, and Tom felt in an instant that he was no match for the sinewy figure that had him in his arms. The Moor forced him down; his hands were already at Tom’s throat, when Timothy Ball, who had accompanied the party in spite of his half-healed wound, threw himself upon the enemy from behind, dragged him backwards, and left him half-strangled, but yet alive.

When Tom rose dizzily to his feet, all his party were within the wall. One or two shouts were heard from the village, but apparently the Moors were not yet quite awake to what was happening. Tom pulled himself together, and led the way straight for the kasbah, which, from his lofty perch in the tree during the day, he had seen slightly to the right of the place at which the entry into the village had been made. When they dashed up to the main gate, this was being opened to give exit to a couple of men who were apparently about to inquire into the cause of the slight commotion and the rifle shot that had been heard. The two were instantly bowled over by the onrush of British seamen, the party swarmed through into the kasbah, the gate was shut, and they came face to face with the head-man.

“What have you—got to—say for yourself?”

The Moor had naturally nothing to say for himself. He saw himself confronted by an elderly whiskered foreigner, in a yachting cap and blue serge suit, brandishing a formidable stick. Mr. Greatorex was in a passion. The exertions of the march, the pains of being hauled up a wall, not without bumps, the scamper at the rear of his men into the Moor’s kasbah, had deprived him equally of breath and of self-control. Determined not to be left ignominiously out of the hurly-burly, he forced himself to the front, and thrust his stick under the very nose of the Moor—who stood a foot above him—calling him to account in the spluttering sentence recorded above.

For a few moments there was a deadlock, and Tom felt the need of an interpreter. Eventually he persuaded Mr. Greatorex to give way, and managed to make the Moor understand that if he valued his life he must at once bring out the Firangi whom he had recently introduced to his house. Finding himself shut off by the gate of his own kasbah from the support of his men, the Moor recognized that he had no choice but to comply, and at a command from him one of his servants brought Sir Mark Ingleton and Oliphant from the upper floor into the patio, looking none the worse for their brief incarceration.

“Delighted to see you,” said Mr. Greatorex, stepping forward and wringing the diplomatist’s hand; Oliphant he studiously ignored.

“Mr. Greatorex, I presume,” returned Sir Mark. “I hope to make your better acquaintance, sir. Meanwhile, if I may be allowed——”

His quick eye had taken in the situation at a glance.

“Peace be with thee!” he said in Arabic, turning with a bland smile to the scowling Moor, “You perceive, O Salaam, that my friends also, being alarmed at my absence, have availed themselves of your generous hospitality. They are distressed at the unceremonious manner of their entry, but you will assuredly deign to pardon it, for have you not professed yourself my devoted servant? You will be the first to forgive an intrusion due solely to the too great zeal of my friends.”

The Moor, chagrined and bewildered, had no option but to acquiesce in this polite fiction, though it is to be feared his reply lacked something of the diplomatist’s ease and suavity.

“But we are a large company,” Sir Mark went on, “and should be loth to trespass on your hospitality. You will be relieved, I am sure, if we betake ourselves to the vessel that awaits us off your coast. You will, of course, honour us by giving us your company so far. Indeed, if you will do us the favour to accompany us on board our vessel, we shall endeavour to return in some slight measure the gracious hospitality that has been vouchsafed to myself and—my son. If you add to your favours by assisting us in the march—by showing us the easiest road and defending us from the perils that may beset us, such as are known to you, O Salaam—you may be assured that we shall show our gratitude in very tangible form. There are, as you know, even in Morocco, evil counsellors, men of violence, some who would even dare to lift their hands against the Sultan himself. If there be any such in this village, which truly I am loth to believe, I advise you, as brother advises brother, to exhort them to mildness of demeanour. These friends of mine who now enjoy your hospitality are men of war; they have arms, you perceive, in the use of which they are well skilled; and since, in our progress to the shore, you will of course occupy the place of honour at my right hand, in all likelihood you would suffer hurt if there are among your followers any men of Belial whose hearts incline towards bloodshed; that would be a great grief to us. And now, O Salaam, as the night draws towards dawn, it will be well if you perform your morning ablutions and devotions and prepare to lead us forth. Bismillah!”

Sir Mark, as he laughingly informed Mr. Greatorex afterwards, had purposely made his address somewhat lengthy, so as to give Salaam plenty of time to regain his self-possession and to weigh the pros and cons. The upshot was that, shortly after dawn, the whole party, with Salaam son of Absalaam in their midst, set off towards the coast, the airship being carried on the shoulders of a troop of the villagers who had been promised liberal bakshish in return for their services.

On arriving at the shore, Captain Bodgers signalled to his men on the yacht to send a boat, and with it a fresh supply of fuel for the airship, which had been deposited just above high-water mark. While this was being done, Mr. Greatorex emptied his pockets of small coin, to redeem the promise to the carriers, and Sir Mark kept up an even flow of amicable talk, apparently quite oblivious of the throng of Arabs who had observed the proceedings from their encampment on the cliff, and by and by came down to the shore and stood around, listening with looks of amazement to this fluent Nazarene who discoursed so pleasantly of things intimate to them.

The men soon arrived with a large tin of the fuel-paste. It was placed in the car; Tom made an inspection of the machinery to assure himself that it had suffered no hurt while in the charge of Salaam; then Oliphant joined him. A few moments later, with a mighty whirring sound, the airship rose gallantly into the air, to the great wonderment of the Moors. While they were intently watching the manœuvres of the airship, filling the air with their cries of “Mashallah!” Sir Mark and the rest of the party embarked and pulled out into the bay, two of the men sitting in the stern of the boat with their faces to the shore and their rifles held conspicuously ready. Salaam indulged in a burst of fury at the manner in which he had been outwitted. His followers gathered around him and held excited consultation, some being apparently inclined to fire on the departing boat, others to pursue the airship. But they had made up their minds to neither course by the time the party reached the yacht; and when Captain Bodgers trained on them the two brass guns she carried, they hurriedly broke up and disappeared over the cliffs.

“You were just in time, Mr. Greatorex,” said Sir Mark Ingleton as they sat together in the boat. “A messenger came in from the sheikh yesterday afternoon, and I shrewdly suspect that arrangements had been made to transfer us to our old quarters in the kasbah. I say ‘our old quarters,’ forgetting that Mr. Oliphant——”

“Oliphant!” interrupted Mr. Greatorex. “There now! What do you think of this, Sir Mark?”

And he proceeded to delight his guest with a vigorous indictment of M’Cracken, and Byles, and Byles’ sick mother, and Lord Langside for having sent an English gentleman on a mission to such an abominable country, and for having such an outrageously impudent son.

CHAPTER XIV—THE TROGLODYTES

When Abdul pointed out the cave in which it was advisable that they should take shelter, and the means of access to it, Schwab groaned deeply, and declared that nothing on earth should induce a German subject of his weight to attempt so perilous a climb. But on reflection he came to look upon it as the lesser of two evils, and with much travailing of spirit and discomfiture of body he allowed himself to be assisted up the incline so long as progress on foot was possible, and then to be hoisted at the end of the rope. Abdul’s strength alone would not have sufficed to haul so great a mass into safety; but Salathiel ben Ezra, who was by this time thoroughly weary of solitude, and had come to the end of his stock of provisions, lent willing help, with a view, as it proved, of turning the situation to account.

He used every means of persuasion and cajolery which his ingenuity could devise to persuade Abdul to release him. One of his propositions was that they should convey the German to the sheikh of Ain Afroo and claim a sufficient reward. Abdul ridiculed the idea. Both he and the Jew would get short shrift from the sheikh now that the more valuable of his captives was snatched from his grasp. Salathiel then proposed that they should try to gain the nearest town where they might find Europeans, and tell a moving story of the sufferings and perils they had endured in rescuing the German from the hands of his captors. But to this, as to his other suggestions, Abdul turned a deaf ear.

They were a strangely assorted trio. Schwab only half trusted the Moor; the Moor despised Schwab; both disliked the Jew. It was not long before Schwab declared that he was hungry, and illustrated the privations he had already suffered by exhibiting the unwonted gap between his waistcoat and his person: “And I have ze straps of my vaistcoat drawn so tight!” he added. Salathiel’s scanty stock of provisions having been exhausted, Abdul descended to forage, and returned with a supply of dates and olives, and the tin filled with water at the spring.

“Ach! My pipe! It is in ze room vere first I vas laid up. Mein Gott! And ze list of Schlagintwert; ze last edition, revise and enlarge. Ze Moors zey vill now order vizout me, and I lose colossal sum in commission!”

All this was Greek to Abdul, but a little more comprehensible to the Jew, with whom, however, Schwab refused to discuss business. He preferred to ply Abdul diligently with questions about the airship: where it came from; how it was driven; what was the composition of the fuel.

“Already is it partly known to me,” he said. “It contain large quantity Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six. But zat is not all. I know it! Vy? Because my Jarman intellex tell me so. But vizout doubt I discover it; zen zere shall be business for Schlagintwert. You do not know vat ze ozer zink is?”

Abdul shook his head.

“Zen you vas never made for business. Vun cannot learn it; it is born. So vas I born!”

He discoursed on business and other things, despising his audience for their want of appreciation; then fell to bemoaning his fate. Thus the hours passed away.

At last the monotony of the situation was broken. Abdul, like a good Mohammedan, was engaged in his devotions when the Jew, at the mouth of the cave, caught sight of a party of Moors far below, and signalled to them before he could be prevented. Springing up, Abdul was on the point of killing him with his knife when Schwab hastily interposed.

“No, I vill not have it,” he said. “You kill him; zen am I accomplice; and vat is zat for a kind of business, I say?”

But he did not decline to assist Abdul to truss up the Jew and render him incapable of further mischief. No more than Abdul himself did he wish to attract visitors.

The mischief, however, was already done. The Moors, a search party despatched by the sheikh, had observed the Jew’s signals, and at once spurred their horses across the country until they reached the foot of the precipitous ascent. They dismounted: one of them began to climb up. For a time Abdul watched his progress; then, when he thought the man had mounted far enough, he threatened to hurl him from the face of the cliff if he advanced another step upwards. It was so obviously in Abdul’s power to make good his threat that the Moor hesitated; then, in response to an encouraging shout from below, he again began to climb. He may have reflected that his comrades could afford to shout; they were not clinging like a fly to the face of an almost perpendicular wall of rock; but he may have reflected also that great would be his praise and reward if he succeeded in bringing to account the insolent strangers who had done such despite to his sheikh. No doubt also he reckoned on support from the member of the party who had signalled.

Up he came, slowly feeling his way. Abdul bent over the brink, and, just as the man ascended within reach, smartly rapped his knuckles with the butt of Tom’s revolver. At the same moment a shot from below struck the rock within an inch of his head. Abdul at once darted back within the shelter of the cave; but the climber, taught by the sharp blow he had received, ventured no farther, and shortly afterwards began to descend. When he reached the party below, it was clear that he met with a reprimand from the leader for his want of courage; but he sullenly refused to make another attempt, and seemed by his gesticulations to invite each of his comrades in turn to take his place. But nobody came forward, and after an excited discussion—portions of which were in tones so loud that Abdul was able to interpret to Schwab, nervously eager to learn what was to be done—a messenger was sent off in the direction of Ain Afroo, while the five or six who remained settled down to keep watch at the foot of the precipice.