"Father Sigismondi serves six islands besides mine," said the smuggler. "He visits us by favor of my boat, when Christian offices are in special demand. It is a matter I regulate myself." "Carabineers, tax collectors?" "Of the former, none; we have leave to cut our own throats. Of the latter, one yearly. He is due in about eight months' time." "Food?" "Polenta--fish--beans; at times of _festa_ a _risotto_ of kid. We have goats, and therefore milk." The Moor nodded. "I am empowered to offer you for your hospitality for myself and friends twenty _lire_ per head per week during our stay on your boat or island," he said slowly. Luigi scratched his head. "One hundred _lire_ for the lot?" he temporized. "You have appetites, you Moors; that is notorious." "We have appetites--for food," agreed Muhammed. "The bill of fare you quote contains little that would be dignified as such in my way of thinking. You will take eighty _lire_ per week, or lose this trade of Yakoob's. Choose quickly." For the second time the Italian's shoulders rose in a shrug. "What you will," he said apathetically. "You hold a pistol to my head." "Try to remember that it remains always loaded," replied the other, and turned briskly towards the port. "You had better see to your arrangements instantly." He passed across the sand towards the dirty little Marina which fronts the shipping offices and ship-chandlers' booths, leaving his companion staring after him with a frown. Then, for the third time, Signor Luigi shrugged his shoulders and followed, to enter finally a ship's dingy which was tied to the Marina steps. In this he gained a large lateen-rigged boat which swung at her moorings in the bay. The motor launch floated idly on the ripples at the landing stage immediately below the citadel. The engineer had come ashore and sat on a bench beneath the tarpaulin which had been roughly erected to protect some perishable government stores. In the shadow of the Marina booths, Muhammed halted and looked thoughtfully at the man and then at the launch and finally at the setting sun. The birth of a new and up-lifting emotion could be seen working in his expressive eyes. "Bismillah!" he exclaimed softly. "The one! Why not the three!" He drew himself up; a deep breath escaped him. He slipped around the back of the line of booths and reappeared coming as from the citadel. And he had the aspect of haste and importance. He walked straight up to the waiting engineer. "I bring an order that you do not await your mistress but return for her in three hours' time," he said in excellent English. The man looked up in stolid surprise. "Eh?" he questioned. "Your mistress has accepted an invitation to dine with the governor," said Muhammed. "You are to return for her at ten o'clock." The man got up and shook himself lazily as he strolled towards the launch. "Nice hospitable old cock--what?" he hazarded. "Didn't send me down a small bottle of beer and a sandwich, now did he?"