The Son of Monte-Cristo Volume I Part 68

"You are right."

"And he did his work carelessly, for he left this little piece sticking in the lock." And with these words Spero triumphantly held up a small piece of steel.

Monte-Cristo clasped the boy in his arms. Spero was the worthy pupil of the man whose powers of observation had been sharpened during his intercourse with the Abbe Faria.

"And now you shall know who the man was that broke in here," said the count, pus.h.i.+ng aside the diamonds which more than half filled the middle drawer of the safe. "Look here! what is this?"

"A dagger, father," said Spero, in affright.

"And on this dagger a piece of parchment is fastened."

Monte-Cristo carefully unrolled the sc.r.a.p of paper and read the following, written with blood, in Arabian characters:

"Maldar to Monte-Cristo. The poor man who trusts in Allah is richer than the n.o.bleman who fights against him. Beware of the Khouans!"

"Who are the Khouans, papa?"

"I shall tell you later on--there is no time to lose now. Come!"

Hurriedly going on deck with Spero, the count accosted Jacopo.

"When did the Arab leave the s.h.i.+p?" he asked.

"He is still here, master, in the custody of Coucou."

"Are you sure, Jacopo? Tell him to come to me."

Jacopo disappeared, but soon returned.

"Master," he said, "the Zouave is fast asleep."

"And the Arab?"

"Has disappeared."

"Really?"

"Yes, but we will find him. Come, now! Search every corner of the s.h.i.+p."

Monte-Cristo stopped the sailors.

"It is useless," he said, pointing to the sh.o.r.e, "look there!"

Maldar stood on the beach, shaking his fist angrily at the yacht.

"Comrades, listen," said Monte-Cristo, "the Arab is our deadly enemy. In Algeria every bush conceals a danger, every foot of ground carries an a.s.sa.s.sin! Do your duty, but look out for yourselves!"

The next minute the yacht reached the harbor--they were in Africa!

CHAPTER L

THE HOLY SIGNAL

At the southern end of the province of Oran, at the entrance to the Great Sahara, is the Salt Mountain, called by the Arabs Khenegel Melch.

A solitary horseman rode slowly along the road. A white hood covered his head and a long gun was slung over his shoulder. Suddenly he halted and gazed around. On the left of him was the dark-red monolith called the Rock of Blood. Many murders had been committed at this place. On still nights faint groans are heard; they are like the cries of the spirits of the murdered ones, and the traveller who hears the sounds commends his soul to Allah and hurries away from the horrible spot. The solitary horseman threw back his hood from his face and lifted up his long thin arms in prayer. He sprang from his horse and examined the Rock of Blood carefully. On the stone near the base of the monolith was a star similar to those on his horse. The traveller prostrated himself on the ground, murmured a prayer and got on horseback again. The horse sped along like the wind, and was soon at the desert of the Great Sahara. Here all is light, not a shadow intercepts the rays of the sun, not a sound is heard here, all is silent. The horseman rode on, his eye gazing at the sun's disk, which was gradually setting. He did not seem to mind the glare, and upon a closer examination of his person one would have found this natural. He was scarred all over and appeared to have undergone every bodily ill. His bernouse flew aside and from the open breast the handle of a yataghan peeped; no cord or belt held it. It was attached to the man's skin. The man was a martyr. Not a part of his body was whole. He was a ma.s.s of cuts and bruises. His brothers called him a saint. He spoke to Allah and Allah listened to his speech. The desert was his empire, and a smile broke over his lips when he found himself on his territory. How he kept in his way without a path to guide him was a mystery. The sun had disappeared from the horizon. The man now rose in the stirrups and, taking his gun, laid his finger on the trigger. He seemed to be expecting something. Was it an enemy from heaven? His gun was pointed in that direction. The moon now rose pale and clear. A loud report was heard. The saint greeted the moon, and said these words from the Koran in a loud, firm voice:

"The time will come for those who are to appear before Allah's throne."

"The time has come," answered another voice.

"Swear by the wise Koran that you are sent to show the right road,"

continued the saint.

"I swear it by the wise Koran," replied the same voice.

"Are you he whom I expect?"

"I am he whom Allah sent."

"Have you the sacred signal?"

"Look!" replied the stranger, throwing his bernouse aside and showing his lean, naked breast, and on his brown breast shone a star with six points.

The saint got off his horse, kissed the ground, and muttered half aloud:

"Allah is Allah, and Mahomet is his prophet."

"Rise," said the other; "the true believer only kneels to Allah."

"Are you not Allah's messenger? Have you not come to chastise the infidel oppressors of the holy island?"

"I am he, but yet I say rise. The brothers know that I am here. They knew I would appear in the fourth month, at the hour when the moon rose before the setting sun had disappeared from the horizon. The brothers, then, have sent you?"

"Yes."

"Are they ready to obey the messenger of Allah? Are they ready to sacrifice their own and their wives' lives?"

"Look at me! I have torn my limbs with pincers. The brothers have done likewise. We are ready to obey."

"Then I say to you, Maldar Mohammed ben Abdallah, the hour for revenge has come. Death to the Giaours!"

He paused for a moment; then continued:

"Where are the Khouans?"