He turned the nose of the boat southward, a hazardous proceeding, for he ran into clear water, and had only just got back into the shelter of the providential fog bank when the white beam came stealthily along the edge of the mist. Presently it died out, and they saw it no more. "They're looking for us," said Marcus again. "You said that before," said the girl calmly. "They've probably warned them at Tangier. We dare not take the boat into the bay," said Stepney, whose nerves were now on edge. He turned again westward, edging toward the rocky coast of northern Africa. They saw little clusters of lights on the shore, and he tried to remember what towns they were. "I think that big one is Cutra, the Spanish convict station," he said. He slowed down the boat, and they felt their way gingerly along the coast line, until the flick and flash of a lighthouse gave them an idea of their position. "Cape Spartel," he identified the light. "We can land very soon. I was in Morocco for three months, and if I remember rightly the beach is good walking as far as Tangier." She went into the cabin and changed, and as the nose of the _Jungle Queen_ slid gently up the sandy beach she was ready. He carried her ashore, and set her down, then he pushed off the nose of the boat, and manoeuvred it so that the stern was against the beach, resting in three feet of water. He jumped on board, lashed the helm, and started the engines going, then wading back to the shore he stood staring into the gloom as the little _Jungle Queen_ put out to sea. "That's that," he said grimly. "Now my dear, we've got a ten mile walk before us." But he had made a slight miscalculation. The distance between himself and Tangier was twenty-five miles, and involved several detours inland into country which was wholly uninhabited, save at that moment it held the camp of Muley Hafiz, who was engaged in negotiation with the Spanish Government for one of those "permanent peaces" which frequently last for years. Muley Hafiz sat drinking his coffee at midnight, listening to the strains of an ornate gramophone, which stood in a corner of his square tent. A voice outside the silken fold of his tent greeted him, and he stopped the machine. "What is it?" he asked. "Lord, we have captured a man and a woman walking along by the sea." "They are Riffi people--let them go," said Muley in Arabic. "We are making peace, my man, not war." "Lord, these are infidels; I think they are English." Muley Hafiz twisted his trim little beard. "Bring them," he said. So they were brought to his presence, a dishevelled man and a girl at the sight of whose face, he gasped. "My little friend of the Riviera," he said wonderingly, and the smile she gave him was like a ray of sunshine to his heart. He stood up, a magnificent figure of a man, and she eyed him admiringly. "I am sorry if my men have frightened you," he said. "You have nothing to fear, madame. I will send my soldiers to escort you to Tangier."