"Stand, whoever you are, in the name of the overlord of Croixilia!"
"We are friends," replied Reeves, speaking in French.
"Throw down your weapons and advance, if you are what you say," replied the voice.
"Place your muskets on the ground," said Reeves in a low tone. "I don't think we need fear." Nevertheless, he retained his automatic pistol, though it was hidden from sight in the folds of his shawl.
The three Englishmen advanced boldly towards the shadow of the palms, the correspondent being slightly in front of the others. A horn lantern was flashed in their faces, and in its gleam they could see the faces of their interrogator and the men who were with him.
There were five of them—short of stature, none being over five feet six inches in height, but broad-shouldered and strongly built. They were dark-complexioned, but in spite of their bronzed features it was evident that they were not of Arab or negro descent. All had short, carefully-trimmed black or dark-brown beards. As for their clothing, as far as the Englishmen could discern, they wore short-kilted skirts, and buskins of undressed hide, their bodies were clad in chain hauberks similar to that found on the skeleton in the desert, while on their heads were quilted caps, strengthened by bars of steel. One man had a pear-shaped shield slung across his back, two more had bows and quivers, and all carried short spears.
"Who are you and whence come ye?" demanded the man with the lamp, in the same strange jargon, which Reeves, fortunately, was able to understand.
"We are English, and——"
"English?" interrupted the questioner.
"From England, then," replied Reeves, thinking that the men did not grasp the significance of his answer.