"The first thing I propose to do is to walk up to the cemetery and astonish my friend Hassan Akbar."
"You will not find him. The Basha thought it wise to keep him safe in prison until you were found."
"He has been there two years then?" said Warriner. "He had no friends. Then he is dead?" For the Moorish authorities do not feed the prisoners in the Kasbah.
M. Fournier blushed. "No, he is not dead. He would have starved, but,--you will forgive it, my friend? After all he had no great reason to like you,--I sent him food myself every day,--not very much, but enough," stammered M. Fournier, anxiously.
Warriner waved his hand. "It is a small thing; yes, I forgive you."
"And he may go free?"
"Why not? He will not catch me again."
M. Fournier's face brightened with admiration.
"Ah, but you are great, truly great," he exclaimed; "my friend, you are magnanime! Now tell me what you will do."
M. Fournier's magnanimous friend replied. "The boat crosses to Algeciras to-morrow. I shall go up to Ronda. And you?" he asked, turning to Charnock.