“If they are not here, they are near by,” Francis said to Polani.  “Do not give up hope.  I am convinced they are not far off; and if we search we may find a clue.  Better keep your men outside.  We can search more thoroughly by ourselves.”

The merchant told his men, who had seized and were binding the two occupants of the hut, to remain outside.  The inside of the hut differed in no way from the ordinary dwelling of fishermen, except that a large table stood in the middle of it, and there were some benches against the walls.  Some oars stood in one corner, and some nets were piled close to them.  A fire burned in the open hearth, and a pot hung over it, and two others stood on the hearth.

“Let us see what they have got here,” Francis said, while the merchant leaned against the table with an air of profound depression, paying no attention to what he was doing.

“A soup,” Francis said, lifting the lid from the pot over the fire, “and, by the smell, a good one.”

Then he lifted the other pots simmering among the burning brands.

“A ragout of kid and a boiled fish.  Signor Polani, this is no fisherman’s meal.  Either these men expect visitors of a much higher degree than themselves, or your daughters are somewhere close.

“Oh! there is a door.”

“It can lead nowhere,” Polani said.  “The sand is piled up to the roof on that side of the house.”

“It is,” Francis agreed; “but there may be a lower room there, completely covered with the sand.  At any rate, we will see.”

He pushed against the door, but it did not give in the slightest.

“It may be the sand,” he said.  “It may be bolts.”

He went to the outside door, and called in the sailors with the hatchets.

“Break open that door,” he said.

“There is a space behind,” he exclaimed, as the first blow was given.  “It is hollow, I swear.  It would be a different sound altogether if sand was piled up against it.”

A dozen blows and the fastenings gave, and, sword in hand, the merchant and Francis rushed through.

Both gave a shout of delight.  They were in a room built out at the back of the hut.  It was richly furnished, and hangings of Eastern stuffs covered the walls.  A burning lamp hung from the ceiling.  Two men stood irresolute with drawn swords, having apparently turned round just as the door gave way; for as it did so, two figures struggled to their feet from a couch behind them, for some shawls had been wrapped round their heads, and with a cry of delight rushed forward to meet their rescuers.  Seated at the end of the couch, with bowed down head, was another female figure.

“Maria—­Giulia!” the merchant exclaimed, as, dropping his sword, he clasped his daughters in his arms.

Francis, followed by the two sailors with hatchets, advanced towards the men.

“Drop your swords and surrender,” he said.  “Resistance is useless.  There are a dozen men outside.”