In such guise, Tony Stretton came to Fez. He had gone straight to the vice-consulate, and thence had been directed to Warrisden's house. When, an hour later, he came up on to the gallery and sat down to dinner, he was wearing the clothes of a European, and the look of fear had gone from his face, the servility from his manner. But Warrisden could not forget either the one or the other. Tony Stretton had come through the mountains--yes. But the way had not been smooth. CHAPTER XXVIII HOMEWARDS The two men smoked together upon the roof-top afterwards. "I left a man at the gate all day," said Warrisden, "to watch the track from Sefru. I had brought him from Algiers. I do not know how he came to miss you." "He could not know me," said Tony, "and I spoke to no one." "But he knew the mule!" Tony was silent for a little while. Then he said, in a low, grave voice, like a man speaking upon matters which he has no liking to remember-- "The mule was taken from me some days ago in the Ait Yussi country." And Warrisden upon that said-- "You had trouble, then, upon the way--great trouble." Again Tony was slow in the reply. He looked out across the city. It was a night of moonlight, so bright that the stars were pale and small, as though they were withdrawn; there was no cloud anywhere about the sky; and on such a night, in that clear, translucent air, the city, with its upstanding minarets, had a grace and beauty denied to it by day. There was something of enchantment in its aspect, Tony smoked his pipe in silence for a little while. Then he said-- "Let us not talk about it! I never thought that I would be sitting here in Fez to-night. Tell me rather when we start!" "Early to-morrow," replied Warrisden. "We must reach Roquebrune in the South of France by the thirty-first." Stretton suddenly sat back in his chair. "Roquebrune! France!" he exclaimed. "We must go there? Why?" "I do not know," Warrisden answered. "A telegram reached me at Tangier. I kept it." He took the telegram from his pocket and handed it to Stretton, who read it and sat thinking. "We have time," said Warrisden, "just time enough, I think, if we travel fast." "Good," said Stretton, as he returned the telegram. "But I was not thinking of the time." He did not explain what had caused him to start at the mention of Roquebrune; but after sitting for a little while longer in silence, he betook himself to bed. Early the next morning they rode out of the Bab Sagma upon the thronged highway over the plain to Mequinez. The caravans diminished, striking off into this or that track. Very soon there remained with them only one party of five Jews mounted on small donkeys. They began to ride through high shrubs and bushes of fennel over rolling ground. Stretton talked very little, and as the track twisted and circled across the plain he was constantly standing up in his stirrups and searching the horizon.