“Just saved your bacon, if that’s what you mean,” said Timothy. “And a nice sloppy mess you’re making! I s’pose _I_‘ll have to clean up.” Timothy scowled and growled, but that was only his way. Tom knew well enough that Timothy would clean up with great cheerfulness. “We’ll get back to the yacht,” he said, “and find some dry things for him there.” The airship was now so well under control that Tom had no difficulty in letting her down safely on deck, though the yacht was at anchor. “Uncommonly well done!” exclaimed Mr. Greatorex as Tom stepped out of the car. “Yes; I thought she came down pretty neatly,” said Tom. “Didn’t mean _that_, you egoist. I meant you saved this young fellow uncommonly well; saw it _all_ through my binocular. Dangerous things, sharks. Who _is_ the boy?” “I haven’t asked him yet. I thought we might give him a dry change and then see if we can make out anything. He probably can’t speak English.” “Very well. Bodgers, find some toggery and take him into the cabin. Who’s the _other_ fellow?” “We shall find out presently. Shall we go into the cabin? I’d like to put a few questions before the other man comes aboard.” They found that Captain Bodgers had rigged up the boy in a sailor’s suit much too large for him. “Capital!” cried Mr. Greatorex. “_Much_ more respectable! Can you speak English, boy?” “Me speak English little bit, and Spanish little bit,” replied the boy with a frank smile. “That’s capital! Not the _Spanish_, you know; but the English.” “I tank very much for the gentleman’s goodness——” “Yes, yes, _that’s_ all right. But come now, how did you get into that pretty pickle?” The boy looked puzzled. “Tell us how the ship came to be wrecked,” said Tom, translating. “Aiyeh! She caught in fog last night, struck rock. Quick it was all over; no one live, only me and Salathiel ben Ezra.” “That is your friend’s name, is it? A Jew?” “Yes, excellency, a Jew. A dog of a Jew!” “And you are not a Jew? What is your name?” “Abdul, most merciful—Abdul ben Cassim, of Ain Afroo in Zemmur.” “Zemmur!” ejaculated Mr. Greatorex. “Isn’t that the neighbourhood where Ingleton is said to be?” “Yes,” replied Tom. “We may find the lad useful. Tell us, Abdul, how you came to be at sea with a Jew.” Abdul explained that, some five or six years before, his father, a well-to-do saddlemaker of Ain Afroo, had contrived to quarrel with the sheikh of his district, refusing, in fact, to pay the sheikh a very extortionate levy. It was, Abdul admitted, a foolish thing to do, for soon afterwards the saddlemaker died mysteriously. His family took instant flight with what possessions they could get together, and found refuge in Casa Blanca, where the boy had a distant relative, the owner of a small coasting vessel. Since that time he had been engaged in trading up and down the coast, and in his journeyings had picked up a smattering of English and Spanish.