Basil looked up at the moon which just then emerged from the shadow of a cloud. Then he gave a nod of satisfaction.
"Your promptness argues well for your success," he turned to his runner who was cowering at his feet, the ashen face with the blinking and inflamed eyes raised to his master. "Know you the road to southward, my good Daoud?"
The Moor gave a nod and Basil proceeded.
"You must depart this very night. Take the road that leads by Benevento to the Shrines of the Archangel. You will overtake the Senator and deliver into his hands this token. You will return forthwith and bring to me—his answer. Do I make myself quite clear to your understanding, my good Daoud?"
The Moor fell prostrate and touched Basil's buskin with his forehead.
"Up!" the latter spurned the kneeling brute. "To-morrow night must find you in the Witches' City."
With these words he placed into the Moor's hand a small article, carefully tied and sealed.
The twain exchanged a mute glance of mutual understanding, then Daoud gave a bound, darted forward and shot away like an arrow from the bow. Almost instantly he was out of sight.
The hound bounded after him but, obedient to his master's call, instantly returned to the latter's feet.
For some time Basil remained near the rock where the weird ceremony had taken place.