Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 33: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DOWN THE COAST OF BARBARY. Spence shook his head. A sardonic smile touched the bearded lips of the Moor. “Then you are better off than I. Now, I know your story, and I bring you a mes- sage from the astrologer of Arzew.” “A message—for me?” Spence did not hide his astonishment. “Aye. I know what manner of man you are; from the stars, I know that your fate is twinled with mine. You are to be trusted. Do you believe in the stars?” “When they guide my ship, yes,” said Spence. “ As arbiters of destiny—decided- ly no.” “But I do,” said the other. ‘“ Senor, the stars have linked us together. Do you wish to make money—large sums?” Spence eyed him shrewdly. ‘* Not enough to deny my religion.” The Moor broke into a laugh. ** Ah, I have no love for renegades. Now listen. I neéd a friend at once—one whom I can trust; if this box remains in my hands an hour longer it spells my death. “When I was last at Oran, the astrologer of Arzew told me about you. Your fate lies with mine. You are the one man I can trust. If you will give me your help and friendship, I offer you three things: of money, as much as you desire; of power, more than you dream; and for a wife, the most wonderful woman in the world.” Patrick Spence thought he was dreaming. Yet he would have been a poor seaman had he not been able to think swiftly. This blunt speech, this haste, showed a crisis, He seized it. “T do not sell my friendship,” he an- swered, “either for money or power. As for a wife, I desire none.” The Moor stared at him. “You refuse my offer?” “Yes. If my help will avail you, I give it freely—but I will not sell it.” “By Allah, you areaman!” The dark eyes flashed suddenly. “ Will you go to Morocco with me? Think well! The stars have promised me success. Perhaps your friend, Dr. Shaw, will go also. Yet death _may lie ahead. Will you go?” Spence shrugged. “ Yes, T will go.” “Good! Take this vox and guard it. 503. And here is the message from the astrolo- ger: Beware of a man who wears a black burnoose. Adios!” Mulai Ali hastily thrust into Spence’s hands the box and a folded paper. Then he turned abruptly and strode away at a rapid pace, unusual in a Moor. Spence stared after his figure in bewildered amaze- ment, then knocked out his pipe and pock- eted it. “What the devil!” he exclaimed whim- sically. “A man wearing the Golden Fleece offers me hospitality in Morocco. Then comes. this chap, who seems to know all about me, and offers me a job! And who’s this astrologer person?” He opened the paper and started. Eng- lish characters met his eye. To Captain SPENCE o¥ Boston: Mulai Ali has told me of you, as have others. You may trust him absolutely. I have persuaded him that you can help him— because I need your help. I am a slave. If he makes promises, he can fulfill them. Tell the consul at Algiers that I have woven a net to catch Ripperda. If you be the true man I think you, then come with Mulai Ali and help me. This note was unsigned. “Ripperda! Who is the fellow?” mused Patrick Spence, frowning. “ And I am to beware of a man who wears a black bur- noose—plague take it all! Am I mad or dreaming?” He filled his pipe again. He-had beer long enough in Algiers to know that the place was a hotbed of intrigue. Spanish armies were holding Oran against the Moors and the land was in turmoil. It was not so strange that he, a Christian, should have been picked on as trustworthy. Yet, oddly enough, he found his thoughts dwelling not so much upon this astrologer, who was a slave, nor upon the Moor, who was a fugitive, as upon that man who wore the Golden Fleece. He was surely some great man—yet he craved a kind word, a compliment, as a hungry dog craves a bone! Who was he? The sun went westering. Later came Thomas Shaw to the villa again, and with him, to spend the night, the consul Eqware Holden. €omicboo com | i ~ f pis