“By the way, that was the man I came here to see,” Cecil remarked. “He is arrested,” said the Frenchman curtly, and then he sighed. “The booty was not guarded with sufficient restrictions. It was not kept in bulk. One thief probably said: ‘I cannot do without this lovely watch.’ And another said: ‘What a revolver! I must have it.’ Ah! The Arab, the Arab! The Europeans ought to have provided for that. That is where they were foolish--the idiots! The idiots!” he repeated angrily. “You seem annoyed.” “Mr. Thorold, I am a poet in these things. It annoys me to see a fine composition ruined by bad construction in the fifth act.... However, as chief of the surety, I rejoice.” “You have located the thieves and the plunder?” “I think I have. Certainly I have captured two of the thieves and several articles. The bulk lies at----” He stopped and looked round. “Mr. Thorold, may I rely on you? I know, perhaps more than you think, of your powers. May I rely on you?” “You may,” said Cecil. “You will hold yourself at my disposition during to-morrow, to assist me?” “With pleasure.” “Then let us take coffee. In the morning, I shall have acquired certain precise information which at the moment I lack. Let us take coffee.” III. On the following morning, somewhat early, while walking near Mecid, one of the tiny outlying villages of the oasis, Cecil met Eve Fincastle and Kitty Sartorius, whom he had not spoken with since the affair of the bracelet at Bruges, though he had heard from them and had, indeed, seen them at the station two days before. Eve Fincastle had fallen rather seriously ill at Mentone, and the holiday of the two girls, which should have finished before the end of the year, was prolonged. Financially, the enforced leisure was a matter of trifling importance to Kitty Sartorius, who had insisted on remaining with her friend, much to the disgust of her London manager. But the journalist’s resources were less royal, and Eve considered herself fortunate that she had obtained from her newspaper some special descriptive correspondence in Algeria. It was this commission which had brought her, and Kitty with her, in the natural course of an Algerian tour, to Biskra. Cecil was charmed to see his acquaintances; for Eve interested him, and Kitty’s beauty (it goes without saying) dazzled him. Nevertheless, he had been, as it were, hiding himself, and, in his character as an amateur of the loot of cities, he would have preferred to have met them on some morning other than that particular morning. “You will go with us to Sidi Okba, won’t you, to-day?” said Kitty, after they had talked a while. “We’ve secured a carriage, and I’m dying for a drive in the real, true desert.” “Sorry I can’t,” said Cecil. “Oh, but----” Eve Fincastle began, and stopped.