ing him at a distance through the town and out into the suburbs, at an idle, sauntering gait. When we had got out beyond the houses, to the side of the river I have mentioned, he sits him down on the bank, and I, coming up, sit down beside him as if for a passing chat. Then he, having glanced to the right and left, to make sure we were not observed, asks me what we would give to be taken to Elche; and I answered that we would give him his price so we could be conveyed shortly.
"When would you go?" asks he.
"Why," says I, "our passes expire at sundown after the day of Ramadah, so we must get hence, by hook or by crook, before that."
"That falls as pat as I would have it," returns he (but not in these words), "for all the world will be up at the Cassanabah on that day, to the feast the Dey gives to honour his son's coming of age. Moreover, the moon by then will not rise before two in the morning. So all being in our favour, I'm minded to venture on this business. But you must understand that I dare not take you aboard in the port, where I must make a pretence of going out a-fishing with my three sons, and give the janizaries good assurance that no one else is aboard, that I may not fall into trouble on my return."
"That's reasonable enough," says I, "but where will you take us aboard?"
"I'll show you," returns he, "if you will stroll down this bank with me, for my sons and I have discussed this matter ever since we heard you were seeking a ship for this project, and we have it all cut and dried properly."
So up we get and saunter along the bank leisurely, till we
