CHAPTER XXVIII DESCRIBES A CHASE
The driver, with the southerner's disregard of the feelings of animals, lashed his weedy horse into a gallop, as up-hill and down-hill we sped, back to the town.
Entering the city gate, the man scattered the dogs and foot-passengers by his warning yells in Arabic, until at last we were down upon the long, semi-circular quay, our eager eyes looking over the blue, sun-lit sea.
No sign could we discern of the motor-boat, but Fournier, with his hand uplifted, cried—
"See! Look at that white steam-yacht at the end of the Mole—the long, low-built one. That belongs to the Count. Perhaps he has already boarded her!"
I looked in the direction my companion indicated, and there saw lying anchored about half a mile from the shore a small white-painted yacht, built so low that her decks were almost awash, with two rakish-looking funnels, and a light mast at either end with a wireless telegraph suspended between them. The French tricolour was flying at the stern.
From the funnels smoke was issuing, and from where I stood, I could see men running backwards and forwards.
"She's getting under weigh," I cried. "The fugitives must be aboard. We must stop them."
"How can we?" asked the Frenchman, dismayed. "Besides, why should we—except that we were nearly suffocated in that room."
"That man you know as the Comte d'Esneux is the most dangerous criminal in all Europe," I told him. "To the Prefecture of Police in Paris—to you in Algiers also—he is known as Jules Jeanjean!"