"I left a man at the gate all day," said Warrisden, "to watch the track from Sefru. I had brought him from Algiers. I do not know how he came to miss you."
"He could not know me," said Tony, "and I spoke to no one."
"But he knew the mule!"
Tony was silent for a little while. Then he said, in a low, grave voice, like a man speaking upon matters which he has no liking to remember--
"The mule was taken from me some days ago in the Ait Yussi country." And Warrisden upon that said--
"You had trouble, then, upon the way--great trouble."
Again Tony was slow in the reply. He looked out across the city. It was a night of moonlight, so bright that the stars were pale and small, as though they were withdrawn; there was no cloud anywhere about the sky; and on such a night, in that clear, translucent air, the city, with its upstanding minarets, had a grace and beauty denied to it by day. There was something of enchantment in its aspect, Tony smoked his pipe in silence for a little while. Then he said--
"Let us not talk about it! I never thought that I would be sitting here in Fez to-night. Tell me rather when we start!"
"Early to-morrow," replied Warrisden. "We must reach Roquebrune in the South of France by the thirty-first."
Stretton suddenly sat back in his chair.