hey passed the _Blue-Bell_ and came into full view of
Edith, Jack, Fairholme and Daubeney, who happened to leave the hotel
shortly before five o'clock in order to visit the yacht and secure a
good cup of tea.

Brett refused to accompany them, on the ground that his Italian scout,
the pilot, might bring news at any hour, and he must remain within
immediate call.

It was a supreme moment when Gros Jean halted and called general
attention to the smart-looking vessel and the tea-drinkers.

Sir Hubert keenly examined the top of the funnel, and tried
simultaneously to yawn and light a cigar. In the result he nearly choked
himself. Mr. Winter, somewhat more prepared for emergencies, endeavoured
to interest Gros Jean in the wonderful clearness of the water.

But Hussein-ul-Mulk and his two sedate friends suddenly betrayed a keen
interest in Fairholme.

When they last met the earl on the tower of the Chateau d'If they were
so engrossed in the object of their visit to Marseilles that he had
passed them unnoticed.

But now, looking steadily at him--for Fairholme was seated facing them,
and was striving to maintain the semblance of an animated chat with
Edith--there came to the Turks a memory, each instant becoming more
definite, of an exciting scene in the Rue Barbette, and the opportune
arrival of a stalwart young Englishman, backed up by a couple of
gendarmes.

Hussein-ul-Mulk's swarthy countenance reddened with suspicious anger. He
drew Gros Jean on one side and whispered something to him. The Frenchman
started violently.

"They have recognized you, Bobby!" murmured the quick-witted Edith.
"Oh, why didn't we remain with Mr. Brett!"

There is no knowing what might have happened had not Fate stepped in to
decide in dramatic fashion the important issues at stake.

Whilst Gros Jean and the Turk were still conferring in stealthy tones,
and the English people endeavoured to keep up an appearance of complete
unconcern, a tramp steamer swung round the corner of the mole that
protects the harbour.

In tow, with sails trimly furled and six people standing on her small
deck--a lady and gentleman and four sailors--was the _Belles Soeurs_,
fishing-smack No. 107, from Marseilles. Instantly a watcher, otherwise
unperceived, ran off from the quay at top speed towards the Hotel de
France.

Gros Jean, the Turks, Edith, Fairholme--each and every member of the two
parties on the wharf and on the deck of the _Blue-Bell_--momentarily