Frank remembered what Igela had said about Bab-el-Maroc, and he sought to know what she meant. He found out that there was a gate of the city of Fez by that name, and also a castle so called.
The castle belonged to Ben Ahmet, and was situated outside of Fez.
Igela had spoken of Frank’s escape from Bab-el-Maroc, but the boy had never been there, which made the mystery all the deeper.
Having eaten breakfast, and rested through much of the forenoon, Frank accompanied the professor on a visit to Mr. Adams, the United States Consul.
The houses occupied by the members of the foreign legations were situated near the square. They were all very modest little buildings, but they had the appearance of palaces in the midst of the paltry dwellings by which they were surrounded.
Mr. Adams received the professor pleasantly, and shook hands with Frank, saying:
“It really does one good to look into the face of a lively, wide-awake American youth.”
Seated in the cozy little parlor, Frank related the story of his adventures since entering Tangier.
Mr. Adams listened with interest which grew to wonder and astonishment. By the time Frank had finished the man was breathless. “My boy, my boy!” he exclaimed, “you are indeed fortunate to be alive! Ben Ahmet is rich and powerful, and has the favor of the sultan. If he had murdered you, you never would have been heard of again, and all efforts to trace you would have been baffled. You are only a ‘Christian dog,’ and your life is of little consequence in this miserable land.”
“But the girl,” cried Frank; “can nothing be done to save her from old Ali Mustaf, whom she loathes?”