Drawing a cigarette-case from his pocket the Frenchman produced two cigarettes. One he deliberately broke in two, and threw one half on the ground.
Then he turned his back to the two men for one brief instant, then faced them once again. In his closed hand were the whole and the broken cigarette, the tips showing evenly side by side.
"Choose, monsieur," he exclaimed, extending his hand towards Devereux. "The whole cigarette means safety. Do not hesitate, for I see the Moors are showing signs of returning."
The Englishman drew the broken one.
"That's done it, Craddock," he exclaimed, grimly. "Off you go. By the bye, here's your note-book."
"How did you get hold of it?" asked the American, acutely, and not without suspicion.
"You dropped it when you fell, and I picked it up," replied Devereux, simply. "Look here, here's my copy. You might, as a favour, wire it on as soon as you can for me."
"I will, sonny; but an hour after I've sent mine off to the Moonshine. Personal feelings must stand aside when journalism is at stake. All's fair in the news hunt, you know. Well, good-bye, and good luck."
And, wringing the Englishman's hand, the American sprang into the saddle-like seat. The French officer paused only to hand his revolver to the Englishman with a significant gesture, then climbed into the seat in front of the good-as-rescued man. The propeller began to hum, and the monoplane rose gracefully in the air, raising a column of sand as high as a four-storeyed house.