us has seen the French renegade, and are unable to dispute your word." He laughed dryly. "Ah, but the ways of Allah are strange. What you do not know is that my brother, Achmet Bey, who has spied on the followers of The Wolf and seen you many times, returns to his people ere the dawn. No pretense can save you then. He it is that will prove you false. It is his word that will send you to the tortures!"
"But if he proves I am innocent?"
The sheik shrugged his shoulders as he turned away. "Then you will be shot for being in my territory."
That was all. Pushing their way through the crowd that surrounded us, my captors hustled me to a tent of goatskin at the far end of the douar. Here I was given food and drink, then, securely bound, was left alone.
But their precaution was apparent. Just before the door one of their armed number stationed himself, and I knew that even if I were able to force my bonds, escape in that direction was hopeless.
Nor was there any tangible promise that it would come from any other direction. With the passing of the hours the hum and murmur of the village gradually subsided as its inhabitants sought the sleeping-mats in their tents. Out of the night would come the distant howls of the jackals and prowling desert things, but within the douar reigned an eery silence, broken only by the occasional call of some Arab sentry.
Of course I knew that the morrow would bring the spy, Achmet Bey, who would prove I was no aid of Manuel De Costa, but I found small comfort in that. The final words of the sheik had doomed me, regardless of the outcome, though I doubted whether he would forego the quick death he had promised, for the pleasures of a drawn-out, torturous one, so loved by the desert's cruel sons.
My position and the tightness of my bonds prevented any attempt at sleep. It must have been well past midnight when a slight noise sounded at the back end of the tent. A thrill shot through me at the sound. There was a slight pause and then I heard it again, this time closer, like some heavy body moving cautiously on all fours.
But who or what could it be? It was as dark as Erebus within the tent, and once the unknown prowler had gained an entrance he would remain unseen. Straining, I turned my head in the direction of the sound just as the back end of my prison rose from the ground, and a dark form hurried within.
There was another, a terrible pause, while I strained my eyes in the blackness, and then the faintest whisper called my name:
"Silence, Monsieur O'Hara—for the love of Allah, silence!" A rough hand fell on my face.
"Who are you?" I gasped.
"A servant to his mistress, and one who would save you," came the voice from the dark. As he spoke I felt the cold steel of a knife touch my flesh as it cut at the bonds that held me. A minute later they had dropped from my hands and feet, and I was free.
I had no time to voice my thanks or surprise. No sooner had the thongs fallen from me when the stranger spoke one word.
"Come!" he whispered.
On hands and knees we crept from the tent to a starlit desert night. Against the clearness of the sky the tents of the Arabs stood out in sharp relief.
At the far end of the douar rose the glow of a campfire, but there came no shout or call to stop us, and the watch-
