The Pursuit

  CHAPTER XVII

  MUHAMMED SCORES TWICE

  Muhammed's steps were bent away from the town towards the row ofdilapidated hovels which fringe the bank of sand below the nearerblockhouse. And he walked quickly; there was definite purpose and nosign of hesitation in his stride. He came to a halt before a dwelling,half burrow, half barn, round the entrance of which were clustered halfa dozen ragged figures.

  The Moor's face was dark in the shadow of his _haik_ hood, but heappeared to need no introduction. He raised a finger and beckoned. Oneof the lounging figures rose grudgingly and drew aside with him.

  "I have it from Yakoob, Signor Luigi, that you leave to-morrow. Thatmust be altered. It may be necessary to make a start to-night."

  The other raised a dark Italian face towards the Moor and eyed himquestioningly. He shrugged his shoulders.

  "I have no charter from Yakoob," he said. "I return home to Salicudi--toawait the sponge-fishing season. I need a holiday; this contrabandrunning frets the nerves, do you see? I wish to forget the need ofhaving eyes--and a telescope--at the back of one's head."

  For a moment Muhammed was silent, debating, as it seemed, something inwhich memory or experience gave him no assistance.

  "Salicudi?" he questioned.

  "In the Lipari group," said the other, laconically. "My home."

  "An island?" said the Moor. "And your home? What is it? A house--ahut--a castle? Give me particulars. My chiefest need would be privacy.Can you guarantee it?"

  The Italian pondered.

  "You flee from--what?" he demanded.

  "From a curiosity which still seems to dog my footsteps," said the Moor,drily. "Let it be sufficient for you to know that with three friends Idesire to vanish from Melilla to-night. We might find it convenient toremain temporarily on Salicudi. It depends on your neighbors' thirst forinformation and your capabilities of defeating it."

  Signor Luigi gave an expressive and contemptuous wave of the hand.

  "On Salicudi are six families--cousins of mine, all of them. I and mybrother Sandro alone possess boats or money. The others work for us andare fed. We do not encourage them to think; they do not tire theirmagnificent brains except under our direction."

  Muhammed nodded appreciatively.

  "The priest?" he suggested.

  "Father Sigismondi serves six islands besides mine," said the smuggler."He visits us by favor of my boat, when Christian offices are in specialdemand. It is a matter I regulate myself."

  "Carabineers, tax collectors?"

  "Of the former, none; we have leave to cut our own throats. Of thelatter, one yearly. He is due in about eight months' time."

  "Food?"

  "Polenta--fish--beans; at times of _festa_ a _risotto_ of kid. We havegoats, and therefore milk."

  The Moor nodded.

  "I am empowered to offer you for your hospitality for myself and friendstwenty _lire_ per head per week during our stay on your boat or island,"he said slowly.

  Luigi scratched his head.

  "One hundred _lire_ for the lot?" he temporized. "You have appetites,you Moors; that is notorious."

  "We have appetites--for food," agreed Muhammed. "The bill of fare youquote contains little that would be dignified as such in my way ofthinking. You will take eighty _lire_ per week, or lose this trade ofYakoob's. Choose quickly."

  For the second time the Italian's shoulders rose in a shrug.

  "What you will," he said apathetically. "You hold a pistol to my head."

  "Try to remember that it remains always loaded," replied the other, andturned briskly towards the port. "You had better see to yourarrangements instantly."

  He passed across the sand towards the dirty little Marina which frontsthe shipping offices and ship-chandlers' booths, leaving his companionstaring after him with a frown. Then, for the third time, Signor Luigishrugged his shoulders and followed, to enter finally a ship's dingywhich was tied to the Marina steps. In this he gained a largelateen-rigged boat which swung at her moorings in the bay.

  The motor launch floated idly on the ripples at the landing stageimmediately below the citadel. The engineer had come ashore and sat on abench beneath the tarpaulin which had been roughly erected to protectsome perishable government stores. In the shadow of the Marina booths,Muhammed halted and looked thoughtfully at the man and then at thelaunch and finally at the setting sun. The birth of a new and up-liftingemotion could be seen working in his expressive eyes.

  "Bismillah!" he exclaimed softly. "The one! Why not the three!"

  He drew himself up; a deep breath escaped him. He slipped around theback of the line of booths and reappeared coming as from the citadel.And he had the aspect of haste and importance.

  He walked straight up to the waiting engineer.

  "I bring an order that you do not await your mistress but return for herin three hours' time," he said in excellent English.

  The man looked up in stolid surprise.

  "Eh?" he questioned.

  "Your mistress has accepted an invitation to dine with the governor,"said Muhammed. "You are to return for her at ten o'clock."

  The man got up and shook himself lazily as he strolled towards thelaunch.

  "Nice hospitable old cock--what?" he hazarded. "Didn't send me down asmall bottle of beer and a sandwich, now did he?"

  Muhammed shook his head. The man grunted pessimistically, gave a surlylittle nod, and sat down behind the launch's steering wheel. A momentlater he was grooving a white trail of foam out into the bay.

  Muhammed sighed--a sigh which expressed relief, content, and theexpansion of a hitherto unleashed excitement. He turned and ran rapidlyback along the shore. A second visit to the hovels below the blockhouseresulted in a conference with another of their deplorably cladinhabitants. A taciturn fellow this, of apparently Spanish extraction.But the fact that he wore the remains of an extremely dissolute _haik_over a pair of remarkably tattered frieze trousers hinted at acosmopolitanism which was buttressed by his speech. He used the _linguafranca_ and moved amid an almost palpable reek of garlic.

  After the exchange of a few rapid sentences, he relapsed into silencebut not into inactivity. He paced solemnly down the sand and motionedthe Moor to help in the launching of a boat. In it they pulled round thesweep of the bay into the inner port and moored themselves in theberthing which the motor launch had vacated.

  The dusk had now become darkness. Lights shone in the booths; thedistressing clangor of a gramophone sounded from one _albergar_, thethrumming of a mandolin from another. There was a clink of spurs as halfa score of artillerymen clattered down the citadel ramp, eager for thesqualid debaucheries of the port. A _guardia civile_ sauntered along thequayside edge and looked down into the waiting boat.

  "Profitable evil-doing is surely at a low ebb when I find El Avispatrying to make an honest penny," he meditated.

  Muhammed's companion turned.

  "Why do you term me The Wasp, Senor?" he asked with a grin ofcomplacence. "Have I been known to sting?"

  The _guardia_ made a jerky motion of his thumb in the direction of thegreat convict establishment upon the hill.

  "I don't know, _amigo_. Your exploits are scheduled up there; have acare that I do not need to refer to them. Whom do you await?"

  "The Senor and the Senora who landed from the yacht," said the boatmen."They visit the Senor Intendente."

  The _guardia_ looked doubtful.

  "They landed from a boat, a motor boat," he objected.

  "Precisely," agreed the other. "It appears that something affected theengine of this, some leak of the jacketing which I do not understand,but which I am informed cools the cylinders. The engineer returned whilehe could, enlisting my services to await and explain matters to hisemployer."

  "Humph!" grunted the uniformed man. "His choice showed littlediscretion. See to it that you do not disgrace your opportunity. Thatseat is bespattered with fish-oil and scales. Wipe it!" He made acommanding gesture towards the offending stain, and walked majestica
llyaway.

  At the far end of the Plaza he was seen to halt and observe twonewcomers, who appeared leisurely descending the citadel ramp. Agold-braided official was in attendance on them, and his gestures wererapid and deferential. The _guardia civile_ saluted and spoke. Muhammed,watching keenly, gave another sigh. Fate was on his side. The veryguardians of law and order were unconsciously buttressing his plan. Thisofficious _guardia civile_ was already explaining the situation to MissVan Arlen and her companion. The onus of explanation--and possiblesuspicion--was thus being lifted from shoulders possibly less capableof bearing it. He muttered his satisfaction in a hurried undertone.

  The girl and Aylmer advanced towards the quayside, the gesticulatingofficial still in attendance. The latter eyed the waiting boatdisdainfully.

  "Let me demonstrate, Senora," he cried, "that our port can supplysomething less deplorable in the way of shore boats. Let me summon apinnace and crew from the naval arsenal."

  Muhammed's heart stood still. But fate smiled on him yet.

  Miss Van Arlen protested that the boat would do well enough, that it washardly fair to have kept this man waiting by the instructions of her ownengineer, as it appeared, and then refuse to engage him. With a smileand bow of farewell she took her seat in the stern, while the _guardiacivile_ muttered stern instructions to the rowers anent their duty. Theyreceived them in stolid silence. Aylmer took the yoke lines, and amid arenewed demonstration of respect from the men of gold braid, the boatshot out into the darkness.

  A slight mist hung over the water, but the riding lights of the yachtwere plain enough and Aylmer headed directly for them. He leaned forwardand asked a question of the man who pulled stroke oar.

  "The Senor who came ashore with us?" he queried. "Did you mark him? Didhe return in the motor boat?"

  The man shrugged his shoulders.

  "I did not see it," he said laconically. "Have the goodness to steerwell to the right. Your present course will foul a line of net buoys."

  Aylmer pulled the line and swerved as directed. And then Claire spoke,with a hint of something in her voice which was nearly akin tosuspicion without exactly attaining it.

  "Mr. Miller frankly puzzles me," she said.

  Aylmer gave a little nod in the darkness.

  "Yes," he agreed. "There is a sense of--of estrangement about him. He isgood company, a _mondain_, intelligent, but not--human. One feels thatat every turn."

  The girl made a gesture towards the shore.

  "What can he have to do in that--that ash heap?" she asked. "A man whoposes as a _flaneur_, a _dilettante_."

  "Pottery?" suggested Aylmer. "He collects; I have seen his collections.They are sound and in good taste, without being remarkable."

  "That is what I think," she acquiesced. "For the life-work of a man theyare petty. It is mysterious; he is mysterious! Why did he not rejoin usthis evening at the governor's office as he promised?"

  Aylmer smiled.

  "The ardors of the chase," he hazarded. "He is probably sitting in thesanctum of some Jew huckster, chaffering for the least worn of acollection of Rabat rugs or old Mequinez steel-work. He will come onboard to-morrow to explain and bid us farewell, and we shall hear allabout it."

  "About what?" asked the girl enigmatically.

  Aylmer smiled again.

  "About--what he chooses to tell us," he answered, and jerked theyoke-line energetically, as a couple of oval dark objects loomed up onthe surface just ahead.

  There was a swish and a dragging sound, and the dark objects disclosedthemselves alongside as net buoys. They hung below the gunwalepersistently; the boat was obviously brought to a standstill.

  "In spite of my warning the Senor has fouled the fishing nets," growledthe boatman.

  "On the contrary," retorted Aylmer, "your directions carried us straightinto them. A direct course would have avoided this."

  The man shipped his oar and stood up.

  "The Senor will permit me to pass him?" he said. "The rudder itself mustbe unshipped to clear us."

  Aylmer shifted his seat to one side as the man leaned over him. The nextinstant he had cried out--a choking cry, smothered under the folds ofthe sail which the man had heaped bodily upon his head. His hands weregrasped and drawn together in the loop of a rope. Lashings were knittedabout his limbs with almost miraculous rapidity. Stark and inert, hefelt himself rolled into the bottom of the boat, his rage and horroralmost suffocating him as he heard the quickly stifled cry which toldhim that his companion was suffering like treatment. And then, for halfa minute, the rapid rumble of the rowlocks was evidence that the boatwas being furiously rowed--whither he could not guess.

  There was a shock of wood meeting wood. They had run alongside anothervessel, or possibly the piles of a landing place. Whispered voicesjoined those of their captors.

  He felt himself lifted, borne staggeringly forward a few paces and thenlowered into arms which gripped him from below. There was the creak ofreluctant hinges. He was placed not ungently upon a floor of planking.The voices whispered again, something was laid beside him, touching him.The hinges grated, footsteps passed over a floor or deck above his head.And then there was silence.

  But out in the bay a few minutes later, the decent stillness of thenight was torn into tatters of uproar. The voice of the Spanish boatmanwas uplifted in appeals for help to every listening saint in Paradise,and to every inhabitant of the Melilla's citadel and port. The soundsreached, as they were meant to reach, the quay. Every guardroom wasemptied; the roisterers surged into the street from a dozen _albergars_and _cervecerias_. Half a score of boats put out into the night, onemanned by the naval police leading.

  Lament guiding them, within five minutes they reached a point where ElAvispa clung disconsolately to the keel of his upturned boat, bewailingthe day of a birth which had developed for him into a life ofunremitting sorrow. He was dragged into the police boat and ordered toexplain himself.

  It was the fault of the foreign Senor, he deposed. Justice to himselfcompelled him to admit that, though he had every regard for thereputation of a cavalier who was now without doubt drowned fathoms deepbelow the very spot on which the rescuing pinnace swam. Being careless,or perchance engrossed by the attractions of the Senora who was forbeauty a very swan, the amateur steersman had precipitated them amongthe mackerel nets. The rudder was fouled. He, Ignacio Baril, sometimescalled El Avispa, had stood up to pass to the stern and release it. TheSenora, with entrancing but unfortunate timidity, had risen in her turn,and the Senor, gesticulating in argument, had consummated the disaster.He had leaned sideways, lost his balance, and caused the boat to lurchcompletely over.

  Yes, he himself had put forth the efforts of a Hercules to save, atleast, the woman. In deference to the memory of his mother, who wasalready among the Saints after a lifetime of charity and benevolence, hemust bear witness to the fact that her son met this crisis with energy.How was he defeated? The truth must out; again it was the foreigncavalier. In his panic he had clutched and drawn back from the brink ofsafety the Senora--alas! to perdition. The would-be rescuer had desistedfrom his efforts only when his overtaxed lungs failed him. In a state ofsemi-unconsciousness, Providence had guided his aimless hand to reachand rest upon the keel of his overturned boat. He had been saved, it wasvery true, but it was a question if death itself was not to bepoignantly preferred to safety coupled with such a burden of grief. Hisdays must be clouded to his life's end.

  And thereupon the bay echoed with the shouts of a hundred searchers andthe waters glittered in carnival gaiety below the glare of their lights.A couple of hours later one of them halted, as if to rest the rowers, inthe shadow of the felucca _Santa Margarita_. From her bows a long,cord-lashed package was silently lifted on the larger vessel's deck,while three figures scrambled hastily over the gunwale and crept below.Then laboriously the clumsy anchor was hauled home, the broad sailspread to the western breeze, and Signor Luigi steered a straight courseinto the bosom of the night.