Aylmer looked up as Despard came into the room. A kit bag lay on the floor half full and Aylmer's man was packing it. Despard raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Going?" he asked quickly. "Where?"

"Tangier," said Aylmer. "To-night, by the Forwood boat."

Despard gave a little whistle.

"And the Commission?" he objected.

"I've had very special luck there," explained Aylmer. "Sir Arthur went down with influenza yesterday morning. So the Commission, instead of meeting this week as proposed, adjourns till the end of November."

He leaned down, gave a searching glance into the bag, and closed it.

"That will do, Sillery," he said to the servant. "I'll call if I want you."

As the man went out Despard dropped down upon the sofa. He sat and looked across at his companion with a glance which blended inquiry and concern.

"I've heard only rumors, so far," he remarked.

Aylmer made a little gesture towards the bookcase, which was still broken but empty.

"I came back unexpectedly last night. I had been discussing a point with the general at dinner and ran across to find a book to prove my contention. I found Landon here, ransacking the bookcase. One volume is gone. He took me unawares and knocked me out. I didn't come to for several hours."

Despard made an inarticulate exclamation of anger.

"And he escaped, out of Gibraltar?"

"By the Miramar, so the police declare. A Spanish tramp, going down the Moroquin coast and stopping first at Tangier."

"He's gone to kill two birds with one stone," said Despard. "And you are pursuing?"

"Naturally," said Aylmer, in a very matter-of-fact voice.

"And your leave home—Scotland—cub hunting?"

"That goes, of course. Possibly, if ten weeks is insufficient, my secretaryship goes. Perhaps, old chap, even my commission."

Despard got up with a startled jerk.

"What's that?" he cried fiercely. "What's that?"

Aylmer's hand made a deprecative motion.

"My duty's plain, isn't it?" he asked.

"No!" retorted Despard. "If these old women of Commissioners have no more sense than to direct you to keep important books in a simple bookcase in your quarters—"

"Oh, the book?" interrupted Aylmer, placidly. "Of course, there's the book."

Despard halted, hesitated, and looked at his friend with curiosity.

"You mean the contents of it? You can't help them getting known?"

Aylmer nodded.

"We must recognize the fact that they are known by whoever buys them, or whoever hired Landon to steal them."

"Then why worry; why pursue, why start on this wild-goose chase?" He pointed to the great bruise on Aylmer's forehead. "It's outrageous, with that on you. It's probably dangerous."

For a moment Aylmer was silent. He stood looking at Despard, and his eyes seemed to express a sort of speculative criticism.

"Landon is my cousin," he said at last, as if he put the keystone to an argumentative arch.

"What of it?"

For the second time Aylmer hesitated before he spoke.

"It seems to me," he said slowly, "that in this part of the world I am responsible for the good name which he is smirching. He has gone to Tangier—not only to save his skin. He has gone to commence a campaign of terrorization against the Van Arlens. Merely as an Aylmer I have to pit my hand against his, merely to clear our name and to do my duty. And there is more than that. Since Landon, for moral purposes, is dead, I consider that morally, and very possibly legally, I am the child's guardian. To keep my trust I have to safeguard the child from his father."

Despard tapped his fingers doubtfully upon the mantelpiece.

"And the Van Arlens?" he questioned.

There were tones in his voice which made Aylmer pause over his portmanteau.

"The Van Arlens? I am, of course, going to them direct."

Despard hesitated.

"You can't work with them," he said at last. "They won't accept your help."

A flicker of emotion, first of pain and then of purpose, gleamed in Aylmer's eyes.

"But they may need it," he answered. He looked at Despard searchingly.

"And why not?" he went on. "What have they against me except my name?"

"You don't know what it has come to mean to them, in eight years," said Despard, quietly.

And then a queer little silence fell between them, an interval which seemed charged with the electricity of emotion. Despard looked at Aylmer. His friend was staring in his direction, but with a meditative, impersonal gaze which seemed to glance through—not at—him. And a smile grew faintly about his lips, though these, indeed, were pressed firmly together.

He straightened his shoulders, he sighed.

"Of course I start handicapped," he allowed. "But I can run a waiting race." And then he gave an involuntary start and a quick, curious glance at his companion. "We aren't competitors?" he asked suddenly.

The crimson surged up under the tan on Despard's forehead. He laughed harshly.

"The race was run and I was beaten, nine years ago," he said. "There will be no other entry, for me." He walked up to Aylmer and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"God knows, old chap, I wish you luck. But you carry weight, there's no denying that."

Aylmer nodded again.

"To carry weight one wants a stayer," he said. "And I can stay, Despard."

The other nodded.

"Yes," he said quietly. "You can stay. And as far as I know, the course is clear." His voice halted and stumbled queerly. "I ran straight, too, but I was fouled."

And with a grip of Aylmer's hand he went out, to lay the balm of hope against the unhealed wound fate had dealt him, nine long years before.

As twenty-four hours later Aylmer climbed the steps from the water's edge to the pierhead of Tangier, a red fez was doffed from a close-cropped skull and out of a little crowd of hotel touts a Moor saluted with a welcoming smile.

"A pleasant surprise, Sidi," he remarked affably. "There is no hunt abroad to-day."

Aylmer shook his head gravely.

"Not in thy meaning, Daoud," he answered. He moved closer to him. "A Spanish boat—the Miramar came in at dawn?" he questioned.

The Moor hesitated and then turned to shout to a companion. The man answered with a laconic affirmative.

Daoud nodded.

"Yes, Sidi. She came in. As you see, she has gone again."

"Who landed from her?"

Again Absalaam put queries to the assembled loafers. They answered obscenely but with directness.

"A man came ashore with the captain and did not return with him," said the Moor. "Is this, then, an affair of importance?"

"I will give fifty dollars to him who brings me face to face with that man," said Aylmer, quietly. "Let your fellows know this."

Absalaam frowned ferociously and then laughed, a queer, high-pitched nasal laugh.

"My fellows!" He swept his hand towards the pier loafers witheringly. "Does the Sidi think that I am of this noble company of—of dogs and eaters of dirt?" He laughed again, cheerfully this time. "After all, I have given the Sidi every reason to believe it. But it is not so. My work in Tangier sends me strange companions, but I am not of them. And there is no need that these should debauch themselves with your fifty dollars, Sidi. I will see to this thing!"

Aylmer made a gesture of assent.

"As you will, so that the matter is done with speed. I stay at the Bristol. For the moment I visit the Villa Eulalia."

"You can spare yourself the heat and the mounting of the hill, Sidi. They of the villa set forth on an expedition to the lighthouse this morning."

Aylmer came to a halt, irresolute.

"This is not mere talk; you know it?"

The Moor looked at him with sombre eyes which, however, barely hid a twinkle.

"The lady, the little lord, and their attendants went; this I saw myself. Absalaam ibn Said, their dragoman, is my cousin. I spoke with him."

"The old man?"

Daoud's shrug conveyed the fact that he was sufficiently conversant with the customs of Nazrani to have neglected the movements of one who could surely not claim the attentions which were notoriously the due of his daughter.

"I did not concern myself to notice the old man, Sidi. If your business is with him, doubtless it is God's will that he awaits you."

He waved towards the town with a determined and energetic sweep of the hand.

"I go, to earn your dollars, Sidi. One hour may suffice me; perchance I must waste three or even four. But I shall find him, have no doubt of the matter. Have I your leave to depart?"

As they passed together under the shadow of the Marsa gate, Aylmer nodded and the next moment passed alone into the crowd. A side alley had swallowed Daoud as if by magic.

Aylmer joined the main stream of traffic which breasted up past the Mosque and the little SÔk towards the Gate of the Great Market, and so, past the hovels of the desert vagrants which cluster round the walls, to the Marshan and the European quarter outside the town.

A little apart from the cluster of Legations stood the Villa Eulalia, encircled with its tiny park. This, in its turn, was bounded by a high wall of plaster or dried mud. The entrance led under an archway by a porter's lodge.

A Moor in a spotless bournous appeared and made a grave gesture of obeisance as the visitor stood in the shadow of the porch.

Aylmer presented his card.

The man inspected it and pulled a cord. Some way off, inside the house, came the clang of a bell. Another man emerged, took the card which the porter handed him, and disappeared. All this time Aylmer still stood outside the gate.

Perhaps a certain irritation showed on his face, for the porter made a gesture of deprecation.

"If the Sidi would sit—?" He submitted courteously, indicating his own chair. "I do not know the Sidi," he added, with another tiny shrug, "or else—" His voice died away. He let it be inferred that circumstances, not his own desire, stood between the visitor and instant welcome.

Aylmer smiled.

"Strangers do not have the entrÉe?" he asked, as he seated himself.

The man bowed a grave affirmative.

"These are my orders, Sidi," he answered. "But if the Sidi comes again he will find that I have a good memory. I do not forget a face."

Aylmer nodded. "I hope to prove it, my friend," he said quietly, and then sat silent, reviewing his surroundings.

There is probably no more beautifully situated dwelling in Africa than this wide one-storied house upon the knoll which dominates the Marshan with Tangier at its feet. Beyond the clustered houses of the town lies the blue of the bay. Beyond that again the gray vagueness of Gibraltar, Cadiz, and the cork woods of Spain. On clear days, high, white, and mystical looms, above all, the snow of the Sierra.

Far to the east stands the ring of mountains which encircles Tetuan, and this, for many months of the year, has its own crown of white. Away to the west is the infinite emptiness of the Atlantic beyond Spartel, while southward, a barrier between the sea and the desert wastes, Sheshouan rears up its mighty crest. To whichever quarter the eye turns there is loveliness—loveliness both of color and of line. And the lucent clearness of the atmosphere emphasizes both. Sometimes the mist floats in and covers the seascape with a cloud of mystery, but it is seldom, save in the short time of the rains, that the landward view is anything but sun-swathed. And the sands which stretch between the river and the town walls seem to suck in his rays and render them back from their yellow richness when his face is obscured.

What nature has done for the distant views artifice has graven upon the immediate surroundings. Pipes laid down to the little River of the Jews, which babbles below the knoll, bring up water to irrigate the lawns which surround the verandahs. Nowhere in Tangier is there such a carpet of living green. The creepers climb the verandah posts and trail unrestrained upon the roof. Great white, red, and yellow flowers swing from pole to pole as the sea breeze freshens; trailing tendrils of vine and clematis nod through the open windows and mingle with the cords of the string curtains. And the plash of water adds to the sense of leisure and repose. A little fountain plays ceaselessly from the summit of a massed pyramid of rocks and rambles down into the grass between clustered ferns. In masses of six and seven the date palms fling shade from trunk to trunk.

Peace was the pervading element, Aylmer told himself, as he looked down the shady alleys and listened to the voice of the fountain, and yet peace, as facts went, was further from this abode than from the clangors of the market-place in the faction-riven town at their feet. This was no house of pleasure; it was a fortress, with the enemy ever at the gate.

The precautions of his own entrance were sign enough, but other things bore witness. A score of gardeners was not necessary to tend the two acres of pleasaunce, elaborately planned and kept though they were. There was no entrance save the one; two others had been solidly walled in. Bars were on the windows; massive bolts upon the inner wooden gate beyond the iron one.

Remembering to whom this debt of anxiety and watchfulness was due, Aylmer set his lips yet more grimly as he waited. Landon should pay to the uttermost, not only for the wrongs which he had heaped year by year upon his wife and her relations, but for the injury he had done to those of his own blood. Aylmer's eyes grew hard; his color rose angrily. He, John Aylmer, a reputable man, sat and waited admission to a house like a common mendicant, because Landon was a scoundrel. And beyond this, was there not more? Had he not had to endure a look of repulse, of loathing, from eyes—for the first time he confessed it, even to himself—which had become to him the very eyes of Fate. By God! Landon should pay bitterly for that!

A step upon the gravel scattered his reflections. He looked up. Mr. Van Arlen was coming towards him, his head bent to that courteous, suavely interested inclination which is a relic of the old school of politeness. No man under sixty has had the time, or the inclination, to practise these old-time graces.

Aylmer rose, and held out his hand. Mr. Van Arlen, with profuse gesticulations, insisted on personally bringing forward a couple of low deck chairs into the shadow of the palms. He waved his visitor to take a seat.

Aylmer bowed, but preferred, he said, to stand. There was a significance in his tone which did not escape, was, indeed, not meant to escape, his companion. The old gentleman gave him a keen and somewhat disquieted look.

"But I cannot sit if you do not," he protested. He gave the back of the chair a seductive little pat. "Let me persuade you," he pleaded anxiously.

"Mr. Van Arlen," said Aylmer, slowly, "I am not received here as a friend. I prefer, therefore, to give my message standing, as a matter of business."

The gray, furrowed face flushed.

"My dear sir!" protested the old man. "My dear sir!"

"You obviously evade my hand; you do not desire to ask me inside your house?" insisted Aylmer, quietly.

The other raised a hand which shook deprecatingly. But Aylmer forestalled his attempt at speech.

"You do these things, or rather you avoid doing them, without any personal cause of complaint against me, but because my name is what it is?"

Van Arlen's hand fell to his side. The pained remonstrative look faded from his eyes. His lips, which had quivered, grew suddenly set and were firmly pressed together. He seemed to increase in stature.

"Is not my reason good?" he cried sharply, as if some relentlessly passionate impulse mastered all restraint.

"No," said Aylmer, quietly, "though I grant your provocation has been ample. Let me tell you this. If there are any men breathing whose loathing of your son-in-law can equal your own, it is those who are tainted with his name. In the name of my kinsmen, a name all reputable till Landon smirched it, I tender you their sympathy and regret."

For a long instant the gray eyes beneath the grayer eyebrows searched Aylmer's face. Doubt, perplexity, and then finally a thrill of obvious relief passed across the waxen face. Aylmer's hand was taken; he was gently propelled towards a chair.

"I have suffered much; can I be forgiven?" said the old man wearily. "Can you make my excuses valid to yourself?"

"They were written, and the shame of our family with them, all too large in the press of two hemispheres," said Aylmer. "God knows I am not here to-day to bring anything more than such little reparation as is within my power."

"Reparation?" Van Arlen's tone was more than surprised; it was startled.

Aylmer nodded.

"I came to give you information of Landon's whereabouts. He is here in Tangier, Mr. Van Arlen. I came to put you on your guard, and at the same time to offer you my assistance."

Quickly, accurately, and in as few words as possible he outlined the events of the previous evening. Silently, but with growing anxiety, Mr. Van Arlen heard him to the end.

He rose, trembling a little, as Aylmer concluded.

"You will excuse me if I leave you to—to give some orders. The one outstanding fact in your story for me is that Landon is here, and that my daughter and the boy are on this expedition. They have their usual attendants, but—but—" He halted, stammering. "He—he may poise his all on one last attempt? He may get together a following which would overpower them?"

Aylmer looked at him debatingly.

"Yes," he allowed. "That is a possibility to be faced though I believe his resources are, or were, meagre. You will take more men and go and meet them?"

The old man made a gesture of apology.

"Yes," he said. "And, if you will pardon my curtness, at once."

"The sooner the better," agreed Aylmer, quietly, "as I hope to be allowed to accompany you?"

Van Arlen gave a little start, one that seemed to imply a doubt or a question. As if he replied to it, Aylmer gave a little nod.

"You must accept me as an ally, my dear sir," he said. "You have seen that I have a pressing need to meet Landon. I should like to do so in your company."

The other still hesitated.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I would like to make the interview convincing—to you," said Aylmer. "Because I covet your friendship; because I want you and your family to revise their estimate of the name of Aylmer. Because," he paused and deliberated over his words for a moment, "because I want to be received by you at Villa Eulalia, inside."

Again the gray face flushed; again the hand was raised in deprecation. And then the bell in the porch rang furiously, and continued to ring till the porter emerged frowning from his lodge.

Aylmer heard the sound of blows and his own name repeated in fierce interrogation. He recognized the voice. It was Daoud who was shouting and endeavoring to gain entrance in the face of the porter's emphatic protests.

As Aylmer advanced to the bars, the tumult ceased.

"Sidi! Sidi!" cried the Moor. "Your man left by the Larache road three hours back. A company of ne'er-do-wells have taken a sudden impulse to visit Arzeila, or so they said. He joined himself to them, wearing native dress, and was accepted by them without comment. Surely there is something of strangeness and importance in this. I have run, I have sweated, to let you know!"

Van Arlen gave an exclamation of alarm.

"It is as I thought!" he cried. "The Arzeila road? That is a blind. They can make a cut across towards Spartel at any moment." He shouted towards one of the watching attendants; his voice seemed to gain new force as he issued his orders alertly. He faced Aylmer again. "It is a matter of speed," he exclaimed. "I must hasten—at the gallop."

Aylmer gave him a protesting look.

"Not I! We," he corrected.

For a moment the other still hesitated. Then a smile broke into being in his sombrely weary eyes.

"We, then," he agreed. "Even the gentleman who has sadly impaired the distinction of my porter, if you can guarantee him. We may need all the help we can get. Certainly we! God send we may be in time!"