Three figures sat upon the cushions at the stern, and Muhammed, as he watched them from under the hood of his _haik_, examined one of them with startled intensity. Miss Van Arlen he recognized. Aylmer, whose face was partially disguised by bandages, he debated over for a moment. But this third? This gray-clad elder? This was not the owner of _The Morning Star_. It was--whom? Surprise as much as relief erased the wrinkles from the watcher's face as the unknown stepped ashore, turned to assist his companion, and disclosed the features of the Moor's former employer, Mr. Miller. Muhammed emphasized his amazement with an oath. "One God!" he swore, and for a moment hesitated. Then, as the gray-clad man strolled past him, talking, the Moor pushed back the _haik_ which shadowed his face and met the other's glance squarely. Mr. Miller made no sign. Muhammed dropped back into the shadow of the quayside booths, and sauntered carelessly up the citadel ramp. The three preceded him. At the top of the ramp a causeway leads to the drawbridge which spans the fort ditch. Mr. Miller had apparently eyes for nothing but his fair companion. He failed to notice, at any rate, the dilapidated state of the iron rails which fence the bridge. The dust cloak he was carrying caught in a jagged piece of iron and was most unfortunately torn. A sudden appreciative gleam burned in Muhammed's eyes as he noted the incident. The _haik_ hood concealed a smile. He could not hear, but he could see the expressive pantomime which was accompanying Mr. Miller's apologies. He motioned his companions forward towards the bridge and the dark entrance through the casemate into the citadel. As for himself, his finger explained, he would return to the town and get the damage repaired. After a minute's discussion, matters followed the course indicated. Aylmer and Miss Van Arlen passed on--to seek the government offices, as Muhammed told himself, to interview the head, no doubt, of the military police. The Moor slid forward deferentially as the gray figure turned. "I can direct the Sidi to a _sastre_ of incredible skill," he explained. "The Sidi has no need to return to the town if he desires such an one. He is to be found within a hundred paces, if the Sidi so will." Mr. Miller made an affable gesture of acquiescence. "You are certainly quick to seize a business opportunity, my friend," he said amiably. "Lead on." Two minutes later the two stood behind Yakoob's well-barred door, and the hearthstone had been raised. Landon offered his visitor a tribute of surprise tinged with humor. "I understood, my friend," he said, as he took the other's hand, "that the mail came in from Gibraltar to-morrow. For you, it seems, the age of miracles is not past?" "I hope I am an alert servant of opportunity," said Miller. "I got your letter yesterday morning." "That does not entirely explain your presence in Melilla to-day." Miller nodded.