We must return for a while to the kidnaped Leicester.
Gagged and completely powerless, he was hurried along by his captors, through the ruins and down, by a circuitous path, terribly narrow and steep, to the beach.
Though his mouth was gagged, he could still see and hear, and when they had reached the beach he saw the starlike signal which had often puzzled him and heard the sound of muffled oars.
Presently, amidst a dead silence, he was lifted into a boat, which instantly put about toward the open sea.
After some little time he saw the spars of a small schooner looming in the distance.
The boat reached it.
He was lifted from the boat and carried on deck.
There he was instantly surrounded by a crew of desperate and ferocious-looking sailors, half of them Lascars, a few Spanish, and one or two Englishmen.
Job, who had remained on deck, drew aside with the captain, and, after a few minutes' rapid conversation with him, returned to where Leicester lay.
"I am going, Maester Leicester," he said, gravely, and almost sadly. "I be sorry to leave ye like this, but ye wouldn't come to terms and there was naught else to do. I'd advise ye to give in like a wise gentleman; no harm'll come to yer if yer keeps quiet. Good-by, Maester Leicester. I be sorry, mortal sorry, and I'd give a sight of money if it was any one else as we'd had to play the trick on."