The girl snatched a few minutes' talk with Royson. Von Kerber, it seemed, had persuaded her grandfather that Alfieri was the paid agent of rival archeologists who had got wind of the Sabaean hoard, and were able to secure the help of the Italian Government. She was convinced that the ill treatment meted out to them at Massowah had only confirmed the old gentleman's determination to best his opponents at all costs. The burking of his cablegrams, made known by the Baron, was the last straw in an aggravated load. The yacht was going to Aden to enable him to lodge a complaint with the proper authorities, but she would leave almost at once for French—Somaliland, where a kafila would be collected and a dash made across the Italian frontier. And Dick gathered that Irene herself was inclined to let affairs run their natural course. He agreed with her, which was to be expected, seeing that he was four-and twenty, and in love. He cudgeled his brains for some pretext to discuss rings and the manner of wearing them, but his wit failed him there. Irene on the deck of her grandfather's yacht differed in several important particulars from the tremulous girl who clung to him during that blissful journey of the previous night.
He tried to clear up this vital point with Tagg.
"Did you ever give a young lady an engagement ring?" he asked, after judiciously leading his chief to discourse on the frailties of the sex.
"Well," said Tagg reflectively, "it all depen's on the way you take' it. I once gev' a girl a Mizpah ring, which fancied, when she saw'r it in a pawnshop window. Next time I met her she tole me she'd swopped it for a dress improver. The feller she was goin' to marry didn't like the motter as comin' from me, you see, but the funny thing was she never said a word about him when she saw'r me buyin' the ring. Since then, I've kep' me money in me pocket."
Royson took the morning watch, from 4 A.M. till 8. Stump joined him soon after dawn, and appeared to be anxious about the yacht's exact position. So far as Dick could judge from the chart, they were in safe waters; nevertheless, the stout skipper did not rest content until the tall peak of Jebel Aduali opened up clear of Jebel Ash Ali, with Sanahbor Island bearing west.
A lighthouse on the mainland flashed a bright ray at them before the rising sun rendered its warning unnecessary. Still dogging them, the Cigno followed in their wake at half speed, but Stump gave no eye to the warship. He continued to scan the coast intently. A low, double-peaked hill intervened between the lofty Jebel Aduali and the ship. When its saddle cut the summit of the more distant mountain, Stump changed the course sharply.
To Royson's surprise, the yacht turned due west, and headed for the point whence the lighthouse had gleamed half an hour earlier.
And now, instead of looking ahead, Stump kept his telescope glued on the Cigno. A cloud of smoke from the gunboat's funnels showed that she had noted the Aphrodite's new direction, and meant to take a close interest in it. She had a few miles to make up, but that was a simple matter, and her nose swung to the southwest as she raced for the bay towards which the yacht was steaming.
Both vessels held on, following converging lines, for nearly an hour. By that time they were hardly a mile apart. Suddenly Stump sent the Aphrodite round until she lay on her previous course. In a word, after standing in for the land in the most decided manner, he was now making for the Straits again.
This behavior apparently puzzled the Italian vessel, as, indeed, it succeeded in puzzling Royson and the man at the wheel, while the looks cast towards the bridge by the watch, who were mainly employed In swabbing the deck, told that the men were commenting on the yacht's erratic wanderings.