He led them into a depression between the dunes, where a faint path was trodden in the dank growth of beach-grass.. Winding and twisting amongst the miniature sand mountains, this path debouched at last upon a central hollow, in which the comrades descried vaguely a crude structure which seemed to lean against the shoulder of an overhanging dune. Dim rays of light shone through chinks in the boarded walls. They stole forward, bared blades ready to meet attack, until they were just outside the ill-fitting door, with the murmur of voices distinct in their ears. There were no windows in the hut, but the gaping cracks afforded excellent opportunities for studying the interior. Hugh peered in with bated breath. Immediately in front stood Mocenigo, a brace of villainous-looking bravos at his back. On the opposite side of a rough table sat three other men clad in the loose, flowing garments and white turbans of the East. By their fierce, black-bearded faces and jewelled scimiter hilts Hugh knew them for Saracens of high degree, Emirs of one or another of the Sultans who ruled the disjointed Moslem world. He had no time to consider the mystery of their presence, for the leader of the three was speaking in the lingua franca. "But we must have certain knowledge of this, Messer Mocenigo. Our lord the Sultan will not put up with rumours." "And I do not bring you rumours, Sead Eddin," answered Mocenigo. "The Crusade will not sail for Babylon this year--or next." "It sails first for Zara," replied Sead Eddin. "That much all men know. But after Zara?" "It will not sail for any port in the Holy Land." Matteo nudged Hugh and both strained forward. "Allah!" exclaimed the Saracen impatiently. "A straight answer to a straight question! Can a Christian never tell the truth?" "I have told you the truth, my head on it," returned Mocenigo. "More I cannot tell." Sead Eddin shrugged his shoulders and from the folds of his robe produced a weighty bag which he clinked suggestively on the table. "Malek-Adel pays well for what he needs," he said sternly. "But he pays nought for service which is grudging and incomplete." "What he asked for I have told you," protested Mocenigo. "Be content with that. I cannot----" "You cannot serve other masters before my master--and yours." Mocenigo hesitated. The Moslem returned the bag to its hiding-place. "Be it so," he commented. "We will seek elsewhere. There is always a Christian who will sell his soul for gold." By the flickering torch-light in the hut Hugh could see the Italian's face torn by conflicting emotions. Reluctance, hate, fear, desperation, pride and greed struggled one with the other to the end ordained by human weakness. "Give me the gold," said Mocenigo, and he reached out his hand. "You will tell?" "Yes."