Claire Van Arlen rose from her deck chair as the boat's sail dropped. She walked towards the taffrail and looked down. She had used her binoculars upon the little craft ever since its start from the shore, and had finally recognized Daoud. His companion, a uniformed man, whose long limbs seemed to occupy the whole of the space between stern and stem, had his head swathed in bandages. Daoud was the first to scramble aboard. He stood before her with bent shoulders, the picture of dejection. She breathed a little quickly. "Yes?" she asked. "You have brought news--of what?" The tall man swung himself off the ladder, drew himself upright, and saluted. "Mademoiselle, I am Sergeant Perinaud, attached to the office of the military police here. I attended M. Aylmer during our ride in pursuit of the man named Landon, who was escaping with certain desert knaves of the Beni M'Geel. We overtook them--" [Illustration: "_Mademoiselle, I am Sergeant Perinaud_"] She interrupted with an exclamation of delight. "You have the boy?" she cried. "You recovered him?" He shook his head. "No, Mademoiselle. We were betrayed into an unfortunate ambush. We lost five men out of ten in addition to further losses at an earlier date in the proceedings. Monsieur le Capitaine has been badly hurt." He looked at her keenly with a sort of speculative curiosity. And Daoud frowned. For there was no sign of commiseration in her glance. She showed annoyance, almost disgust. "You had your hands upon these men and they escaped you?" she cried. "We were within a very little of arresting them, Mademoiselle, but by an Arab trick in which I regret to say they showed more intelligence than we were capable of divining, they defeated us. I am directed by Major d'Hubert to report to you fully on the incident if you desire it." She made a vehement gesture. "If!" she cried. "If!" With an accession of woodenness in his demeanor, the sergeant drew himself up yet more stiffly, repeated his salute, and in a few precise words gave the story of the pursuit. But, as he described Aylmer's fall, it was to be noted that his voice and bearing relaxed. A tinge of the dramatic colored his level tones. His eyes--his hands were called upon to emphasize the description of the headlong plunge into the black trap of the silo--indicated the feelings of an onlooker rather than a mere reporter, as he described the sealing of the prison mouth. And as she listened, she gave a little gasp. In the background Daoud flung his colleague a little nod of approval. "And then?" she asked breathlessly. "And then?" "I was unhorsed, Mademoiselle, and somewhat beaten about the head, as is evident. I found shelter in a neighboring patch of mallow, where, after a season, I was joined by my friend here. The Beni M'Geel having departed, we watched their route as a matter of precaution for a mile or two, and then returned. We were unable to deal with the slab upon the cellar mouth."