"My father is the Count of Monte-Cristo!"

"I know. Your father is one of those brainless fools who imagine every one must bend the knee to them. What rank does he occupy in your country?"

"He is a prince who governs the souls of men."

"Your father is rich--very rich?"

"What does that concern you?"

"You are brave, and your father must love you."

Spero did not answer, but his eyes sparkled when Maldar spoke his father's name.

"I will know how to strike your proud father; he shall grovel in the dust at my feet. I--"

He stopped short. A new idea seemed to have taken possession of him.

"All the prisoners are dead, are they not?" he asked, turning to a sheik.

"No, master, one still lives, a French officer."

"His name?"

"Captain Joliette."

In spite of his self-control, Spero gave a cry of astonishment, for he knew that it was to rescue the captain that Monte-Cristo had set out for Africa.

"Go," said Maldar, "bring the prisoner here."

The sheik left, and Maldar walked up and down with his big strides.

"Master!" cried the sheik, running in breathlessly.

"Well?"

"Captain Joliette is gone."

"Gone!" screamed Maldar in a rage. "Within one hour he must be brought back to the Kiobeh. If not you must answer with your head; and now bring the lad to the iron chamber, and see that he does not escape!"

CHAPTER LVI

THE FLIGHT

By what miracle had Albert escaped?

The reader will recollect that Gratillet had fallen into the sea of blood which had streamed from the wounds of the victims. As soon as the Khouans had gone a flock of vultures immediately encircled the scene of the ma.s.sacre and began to hover about the dead bodies.

Albert was leaning with closed eyes against the post, when a well-known voice angrily cried:

"Captain, let us think now of our rescue."

It was Gratillet.

"Let me die," murmured Albert, wearily. "I do not care to live any more."

"You are talking nonsense. Die, forsooth! Shake off your torpor and be a man."

"Through what miracle did you recover your life?"

"None, I tell you. I never was dead; only shamming. Oh, if I only had a knife."

While Gratillet was talking he worked at Albert's cords with his teeth and nails, and finally succeeded in freeing him.

"And now," he said, "let's decamp, and that as soon as possible."

The two men were soon on the road, the journalist peering about and keeping up a lively conversation.

"Here is a narrow pathway!" exclaimed the reporter suddenly. "Captain, lie down on the ground near me, and we can continue our little walk on all-fours."

Albert followed the journalist's orders, and the next minute was lying on the ground near his companion.

"Well done," said Gratillet. "Now we must be very careful, for it is pitch dark and banisters are unknown in Uargla. Ah, now I know where the pathway comes from. It is a ditch which gets the rain from the rocks."

"Do you need a cord?" asked Albert. "If so, I have a scarf which answers the same purpose."

"Is it strong?"

"Best of wool and perfectly new."

"How long is it?"

"Four yards."

"Then give it to me."

Albert handed it to him and he bound it about his arms. This done, Gratillet swung himself over a precipice and began his dangerous journey.

"Flying is not so bad after all," said the reporter. "It is doing splendidly and I--"

The scarf broke and Gratillet fell to the bottom, carrying Albert along, who had held one end of it.

At the same moment the discharge of musketry was heard. Had they escaped from Scylla to fall into Charybdis?