Again the gray face flushed; again the hand was raised in deprecation. And then the bell in the porch rang furiously, and continued to ring till the porter emerged frowning from his lodge.
Aylmer heard the sound of blows and his own name repeated in fierce interrogation. He recognized the voice. It was Daoud who was shouting and endeavoring to gain entrance in the face of the porter's emphatic protests.
As Aylmer advanced to the bars, the tumult ceased.
"Sidi! Sidi!" cried the Moor. "Your man left by the Larache road three hours back. A company of ne'er-do-wells have taken a sudden impulse to visit Arzeila, or so they said. He joined himself to them, wearing native dress, and was accepted by them without comment. Surely there is something of strangeness and importance in this. I have run, I have sweated, to let you know!"
Van Arlen gave an exclamation of alarm.
"It is as I thought!" he cried. "The Arzeila road? That is a blind. They can make a cut across towards Spartel at any moment." He shouted towards one of the watching attendants; his voice seemed to gain new force as he issued his orders alertly. He faced Aylmer again. "It is a matter of speed," he exclaimed. "I must hasten—at the gallop."
Aylmer gave him a protesting look.
"Not I! We," he corrected.
For a moment the other still hesitated. Then a smile broke into being in his sombrely weary eyes.
"We, then," he agreed. "Even the gentleman who has sadly impaired the distinction of my porter, if you can guarantee him. We may need all the help we can get. Certainly we! God send we may be in time!"