"That's that," he said grimly. "Now my dear, we've got a ten mile walk before us."
But he had made a slight miscalculation. The distance between himself and Tangier was twenty-five miles, and involved several detours inland into country which was wholly uninhabited, save at that moment it held the camp of Muley Hafiz, who was engaged in negotiation with the Spanish Government for one of those "permanent peaces" which frequently last for years.
Muley Hafiz sat drinking his coffee at midnight, listening to the strains of an ornate gramophone, which stood in a corner of his square tent.
A voice outside the silken fold of his tent greeted him, and he stopped the machine.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Lord, we have captured a man and a woman walking along by the sea."
"They are Riffi people—let them go," said Muley in Arabic. "We are making peace, my man, not war."
"Lord, these are infidels; I think they are English."
Muley Hafiz twisted his trim little beard.
"Bring them," he said.
So they were brought to his presence, a dishevelled man and a girl at the sight of whose face, he gasped.
"My little friend of the Riviera," he said wonderingly, and the smile she gave him was like a ray of sunshine to his heart.
He stood up, a magnificent figure of a man, and she eyed him admiringly.
"I am sorry if my men have frightened you," he said. "You have nothing to fear, madame. I will send my soldiers to escort you to Tangier."
And then he frowned. "Where did you come from?"
She could not lie under the steady glance of those liquid eyes.
"We landed on the shore from a boat. We lost our way," she said.
He nodded.
"You must be she they are seeking," he said. "One of my spies came to me from Tangier to-night, and told me that the Spanish and the French police were waiting to arrest a lady who had committed some crime in France. I cannot believe it is you—or if it is, then I should say the crime was pardonable."
He glanced at Marcus.
"Or perhaps," he said slowly, "it is your companion they desire."
Jean shook her head.
"No, they do not want him," she said, "it is I they want."
He pointed to a cushion.
"Sit down," he said, and followed her example.
Marcus alone remained standing, wondering how this strange situation would develop.
"What will you do? If you go into Tangier I fear I could not protect you, but there is a city in the hills," he waved his hand, "many miles from here, a city where the hills are green, mademoiselle, and where beautiful springs gush out of the ground, and there I am lord."
She drew a long breath.
"I will go to the city of the hills," she said softly, "and this man," she shrugged her shoulders, "I do not care what happens to him," she said, with a smile of amusement at the pallid Marcus.
"Then he shall go to Tangier alone."
But Marcus Stepney did not go alone. For the last two miles of the journey he had carried a bag containing the greater part of five million francs that the girl had brought from the boat. Jean did not remember this until she was on her way to the city of the hills, and by that time money did not interest her.