Accordingly, half a dozen Moors were allowed to mount to the yacht’s deck. They appeared to be much disappointed when Mr. Greatorex politely explained through Abdul that he had no commercial object; his ostensible purpose, to see the country, scarcely satisfied them. But they recovered their spirits when he offered to show them over the vessel; and afterwards when, at the suggestion of Captain Bodgers, who knew something of the Moorish habits, they were each given a cup of weak tea and unlimited sugar, they smacked their lips and declared themselves well pleased with their reception. While they were still sipping their tea, squatting on the deck, Salathiel ben Ezra, who had hitherto kept in the background, came to Mr. Greatorex and begged the favour of a few minutes’ conversation. “I ask you, excellency, to be so kind, as let me go with the men, when they leave this ship. I have business on land; and thank you for your kindness, and take leave respectfully.” “Hm! Moors _friends_ of yours, eh?” “No, no; the Moors do not love the men of my nation; they oppress us; they call us dogs and sons of swine.” “Well then, you’d better stay aboard, you know. You wouldn’t be _safe_ among them in a wild spot like this. We can land you at Rabat in a day or two; you’ll be safer in a port.” “Ah, excellency, but I do not love the sea. It has wrecked my vessel; I have much fear of the sharks. I am not at ease until I set foot again on dry land.” Mr. Greatorex was perplexed. He had no reasonable excuse for detaining the Jew: yet, remembering that the man had seen the airship at work, he recognized that it would be in the highest degree impolitic to allow him to go ashore and spread the news. He beckoned Tom forward and told him of the Jew’s request. Tom instantly grasped the situation. “Mr. Salathiel forgets,” he said, “that we have a claim for salvage on his effects. (Whether we have such a claim legally I don’t know,” he said to Mr. Greatorex afterwards, “but it was the first thing that came into my head.”) “That is most true,” said the Jew, with a smile; “but alas! I lost everything in the wreck; and have only my clothes, and they——” He shrugged expressively. “Sorry for you,” said Tom. “Still, it would not be fair to your companion Abdul to leave him to meet our claim alone.” “But he can come with me,” said Salathiel eagerly. “He will be with his countrymen.” “You were not so anxious for his company when I first saw you,” replied Tom drily. “No, Mr. Salathiel; it will be better for you both to come with us to Rabat: there we can lay this little matter of salvage before the authorities.” The Jew heaved a sigh as of weariness, and acquiesced with a smile. Neither Tom nor Mr. Greatorex was aware that while the Moors were being shown over the vessel, Salathiel had had a few moments’ conversation with one of them. The only man on board who had observed this—and he had not given a second thought to it—was M’Cracken, the new stoker.