At the far end of the Plaza he was seen to halt and observe two newcomers, who appeared leisurely descending the citadel ramp. A gold-braided official was in attendance on them, and his gestures were rapid and deferential. The _guardia civile_ saluted and spoke. Muhammed, watching keenly, gave another sigh. Fate was on his side. The very guardians of law and order were unconsciously buttressing his plan. This officious _guardia civile_ was already explaining the situation to Miss Van Arlen and her companion. The onus of explanation--and possible suspicion--was thus being lifted from shoulders possibly less capable of bearing it. He muttered his satisfaction in a hurried undertone. The girl and Aylmer advanced towards the quayside, the gesticulating official still in attendance. The latter eyed the waiting boat disdainfully. "Let me demonstrate, Señora," he cried, "that our port can supply something less deplorable in the way of shore boats. Let me summon a pinnace and crew from the naval arsenal." Muhammed's heart stood still. But fate smiled on him yet. Miss Van Arlen protested that the boat would do well enough, that it was hardly fair to have kept this man waiting by the instructions of her own engineer, as it appeared, and then refuse to engage him. With a smile and bow of farewell she took her seat in the stern, while the _guardia civile_ muttered stern instructions to the rowers anent their duty. They received them in stolid silence. Aylmer took the yoke lines, and amid a renewed demonstration of respect from the men of gold braid, the boat shot out into the darkness. A slight mist hung over the water, but the riding lights of the yacht were plain enough and Aylmer headed directly for them. He leaned forward and asked a question of the man who pulled stroke oar. "The Señor who came ashore with us?" he queried. "Did you mark him? Did he return in the motor boat?" The man shrugged his shoulders. "I did not see it," he said laconically. "Have the goodness to steer well to the right. Your present course will foul a line of net buoys." Aylmer pulled the line and swerved as directed. And then Claire spoke, with a hint of something in her voice which was nearly akin to suspicion without exactly attaining it. "Mr. Miller frankly puzzles me," she said. Aylmer gave a little nod in the darkness. "Yes," he agreed. "There is a sense of--of estrangement about him. He is good company, a _mondain_, intelligent, but not--human. One feels that at every turn." The girl made a gesture towards the shore. "What can he have to do in that--that ash heap?" she asked. "A man who poses as a _flâneur_, a _dilettante_." "Pottery?" suggested Aylmer. "He collects; I have seen his collections. They are sound and in good taste, without being remarkable." "That is what I think," she acquiesced. "For the life-work of a man they are petty. It is mysterious; he is mysterious! Why did he not rejoin us this evening at the governor's office as he promised?"