No sooner had he left the ship than I, whose task it was to keep Murad's quarters tidy, began to make a thorough search of his belongings. I was seeking that which only my suspicions told me existed--the map showing the location of the treasure. There was a sea chest in the cabin which Murad kept locked. In another room of the ship, however, I had found a similar chest. The key to this one I had taken, hoping that it would open the Egyptian's strong-box. In this experiment I was fortunate--the key turned in the lock as if it were made to fit it, and the lid was loosened. I found in the top of the chest the volume that had been stolen from the rector's library. The trail was hot. There was, however, no map between its pages. Deeper into the chest I plunged. At the bottom I pried up a false bottom and found a paper. It seemed to be a copy instead of an original. I concluded that if this was the diagram of the treasure site, Murad had taken ashore the original, and had left this one aboard in case he lost the first one. The map was simple enough. It showed a section of the southern coast of the Mediterranean. The towns Tripoli and Derne were indicated. Between them was a village lettered Tokra. In the neighborhood of this spot were queer markings, which were explained by writing at the bottom of the map. When I tried to decipher this I found that it was in Arabic. The original was doubtless in English. Murad, in copying, had doubtless changed the English to Arabic to keep the secret from prying eyes. Towards midnight--while I was on watch--I heard a noise on the water from the direction of shore. It sounded like rowing, and yet it was too indistinct a sound for me to make certain. I decided that Murad had given up his idea of spending the night ashore and was returning. However, I asked Mr. Bludsoe to listen. "Oars!" he said, his ear cocked over the landward side. He listened again. "There are three boats at least!" he whispered, "it looks like an attack. Pass the word for all hands!" By this time both watches were on deck. Pistols and cutlasses were passed out. We lined up along the bulwarks, peering out. The mate stood near me. I heard him thinking aloud. "So this is the way our precious skipper protects us from corsairs?" he muttered, "He goes ashore and an attack follows. Looks queer. Wonder what slaves are worth in Morocco? Maybe he's planning to sell a double cargo--goods and men!" We could hear the sounds plainly now. The splash of the oars struck with a chill more than one of us, but we gripped our weapons and made up our minds to sell our lives dearly. Mr. Bludsoe had been sweeping the sea with a night glass. "They are near us, men--four boats, swarming with cutthroats!" He peered over the rail and shouted: "On board the boats! This is an American schooner with whom you have no business. Come nearer at your peril!" Still the boats came on. The steady beat of the oars tightened our nerves almost to the snapping point.