Next to the province of Morocco, lies Algeria, and farther on is Tripoli, the farthest boundary of which adjoins Egypt.
Algeria, I learned, is five times as large as Pennsylvania. Algiers, one of the largest cities on the coast, is its capital. Walls of stone have been built across the harbor as fortifications. Algiers resembles an amphitheatre. Its streets rise on terraces. The streets are narrow; bazaars are everywhere. These are roofed over with matting and lined with booths in which all sorts of goods are sold. The booths are nothing more or less than holes in the walls in which the dealer sits, while the customers stand out in the street and buy. One bazaar is given over to the shoemakers; another bazaar is devoted to jewelry; still another is set apart for the sale of perfumery. Tailors, saddlers, rug sellers—each trade has a separate bazaar. Here are shops selling carpets and rugs, and there is a café in which Turkish coffee, as sweet as molasses, may be sipped. Yonder is the stand of an Arab selling sweetmeats; beyond him a man in a long gown fries meat and sells it hot from the fire.
There are solid-looking public buildings, and a great mosque that covers several acres. A turbaned priest from the minaret which rises far above the roofs of the shops and homes calls out the hour of prayer, and the Mohammedans kneel.
A picturesque crowd pours through the dark, narrow streets. Arabs in long gowns; brown Arabs from the desert; Berbers from their country villages; Jewish girls in plain long robes of bright colors—pink, red, green, and yellow; Moorish women in veils; Berber girls with their rosy faces exposed; boys with shaved heads, wearing gowns and skull caps; holy men and beggars innumerable. Some of these veiled Mohammedan wives are only thirteen years old.
We anchored off Sale, a harbor of Morocco. I heard our skipper tell the mate that he proposed to go ashore and inquire into the chances of disposing of part of our cargo to advantage.
No sooner had he left the ship than I, whose task it was to keep Murad's quarters tidy, began to make a thorough search of his belongings. I was seeking that which only my suspicions told me existed—the map showing the location of the treasure.
There was a sea chest in the cabin which Murad kept locked. In another room of the ship, however, I had found a similar chest. The key to this one I had taken, hoping that it would open the Egyptian's strong-box. In this experiment I was fortunate—the key turned in the lock as if it were made to fit it, and the lid was loosened.
I found in the top of the chest the volume that had been stolen from the rector's library. The trail was hot. There was, however, no map between its pages. Deeper into the chest I plunged. At the bottom I pried up a false bottom and found a paper. It seemed to be a copy instead of an original. I concluded that if this was the diagram of the treasure site, Murad had taken ashore the original, and had left this one aboard in case he lost the first one.
The map was simple enough. It showed a section of the southern coast of the Mediterranean. The towns Tripoli and Derne were indicated. Between them was a village lettered Tokra. In the neighborhood of this spot were queer markings, which were explained by writing at the bottom of the map. When I tried to decipher this I found that it was in Arabic. The original was doubtless in English. Murad, in copying, had doubtless changed the English to Arabic to keep the secret from prying eyes.