XXIV
It was midnight when Nevill's car ran into the beautiful oasis town,guarded by the most curious mountains of the Algerian desert, and theywere at their strangest, cut out clear as the painted mountains of stagescenery, in the light of the great acetylene lamps. Stephen thought themlike a vast, half-burned Moorish city of mosques and palaces, over whichsand-storms had raged for centuries, leaving only traces here and thereof a ruined tower, a domed roof, or an ornamental frieze.
Of the palms he could see nothing, except the long, dark shape of theoasis among the pale sand-billows; but early next morning he and Nevillwere up and out on the roof of the little French hotel, while sunrisebanners marched across the sky. Stephen had not known that desert dunescould be bright peach-pink, or that a river flowing over white stonescould look like melted rubies, or that a few laughing Arab girls,ankle-deep in limpid water, could glitter in morning light like jewelledhouris in celestial gardens. But now that he knew, he would never forgethis first desert picture.
The two men stood on the roof among the bubbly domes for a long time,looking over the umber-coloured town and the flowing oasis which sweptto Bou-Saada's brown feet like a tidal wave. It was not yet time to goand ask questions of the Caid, whom Nevill knew.
Stephen was advised not to drink coffee in the hotel before starting ontheir quest. "We shall have to swallow at least three cups each of _cafemaure_ at the Caid's house, and perhaps a dash of tea flavoured withmint, on top of all, if we don't want to begin by hurting our host'sfeelings," Nevill said. So they fasted, and fed their minds by walkingthrough Bou-Saada in its first morning glory. Already the old part ofthe town was alive, for Arabs love the day when it is young, even asthey love a young girl for a bride.
The Englishmen strolled into the cool, dark mosque, where heavy Easternscents of musk and benzoin had lain all night like fugitives insanctuary, and where the roof was held up by cypress poles instead ofmarble pillars, as in the grand mosques of big cities. By the time theywere ready to leave, dawn had become daylight, and coming out of thebrown dusk, the town seemed flooded with golden wine, wonderful,bubbling, unbelievable gold, with scarlet and purple and green figuresfloating in it, brilliant as rainbow fish.
The Caid lived near the old town, in an adobe house, with a garden whichwas a tangle of roses and pomegranate blossoms, under orange trees andpalms. And there were narrow paths of hard sand, the colour of old gold,which rounded up to the centre, and had little runnels of water oneither side. The sunshine dripped between the long fingers of the palmleaves, to trail in a lacy pattern along the yellow paths, and the soundof the running water was sweet.
It was in this garden that the Caid gave his guests the three cups ofcoffee each, followed by the mint-flavoured tea which Nevill hadprophesied. And when they had admired a tame gazelle which nibbled cakesof almond and honey from their hands, the Caid insisted on presenting itto his good friend, Monsieur Caird.
Over the cups of _cafe maure_, they talked of Captain Cassim ben Halim,but their host could or would tell them nothing beyond the fact that BenHalim had once lived for a little while not far from Bou-Saada. He hadinherited from his father a country house, about fifty kilometresdistant, but he had never stayed there until after retiring from thearmy, and selling his place in Algiers. Then he had spent a few monthsin the country. The Caid had met him long ago in Algiers, but had notseen him since. Ben Halim had been ill, and had led a retired life inthe country, receiving no one. Afterward he had gone away, out ofAlgeria. It was said that he had died abroad a little later. Of that,the Caid was not certain; but in any case the house on the hill was nowin the possession of the Caid of Ain Dehdra, Sidi Elaid ben Sliman, adistant cousin of Ben Halim, said to be his only living relative.
Then their host went on to describe the house with the white wall, whichlooked down upon a cemetery and a village. His description was almostprecisely what Mouni's had been, and there was no doubt that the placewhere she had lived with the beautiful lady was the place of which hespoke. But of the lady herself they could learn nothing. The Caid had noinformation to give concerning Ben Halim's family.
He pressed them to stay, and see all the beauties of the oasis. He wouldintroduce them to the marabout at El Hamel, and in the evening theyshould see a special dance of the Ouled Nails. But they made excusesthat they must get on, and bade the Caid good-bye after an hour's talk.As for the _gazelle approvoisee_, Nevill named her Josette, and hired anArab to take her to Algiers by the diligence, with explicit instructionsas to food and milk.
Swarms of locusts flew into their faces, and fell into the car, or wereburned to death in the radiator, as they sped along the road towards thewhite house on the golden hill. They started from Bou-Saada at teno'clock, and though the road was far from good, and they were not alwayssure of the way, the noon heat was scarcely at its height when Stephensaid: "There it is! That must be the hill and the white wall with thetowers."
"Yes, there's the cemetery too," answered Nevill. "We're seeing it onour left side, as we go, I hope that doesn't mean we're in for badluck."
"Rot!" said Stephen, promptly. Yet for all his scorn of Nevill'sgrotesque superstitions, he was not in a confident mood. He did notexpect much good from this visit to Ben Halim's old country house. Andthe worst was, that here seemed their last chance of finding out whathad become of Saidee Ray, if not of her sister.
The sound of the motor made a brown face flash over the top of the tallgate, like a Jack popping out of his box.
"La Sidi, el Caid?" asked Nevill. "Is he at home?"
The face pretended not to understand; and having taken in every detailof the strangers' appearance and belongings, including the motor-car, itdisappeared.
"What's going to happen now?" Stephen wanted to know.
Nevill looked puzzled. "The creature isn't too polite. Probably it'safraid of Roumis, and has never been spoken to by one before. But I hopeit will promptly scuttle indoors and fetch its master, or some one withbrains and manners."
Several minutes passed, and the yellow motor-car continued to advertiseits presence outside the Caid's gate by panting strenuously. The facedid not show itself again; and there was no evidence of life behind thewhite wall, except the peculiarly ominous yelping of Kabyle dogs.
"Let's pound on the gate, and show them we mean to get in," saidStephen, angry-eyed.
But Nevill counselled waiting. "Never be in a hurry when you have to dowith Arabs. It's patience that pays."
"Here come two chaps on horseback," Stephen said, looking down at thedesert track that trailed near the distant cluster of mud houses, whichwere like square blocks of gold in the fierce sunshine. "They seem to bestaring up at the car. I wonder if they're on their way here!"
"It may be the Caid, riding home with a friend, or a servant," Nevillsuggested. "If so, I'll bet my hat there are other eyes than ourswatching for him, peering out through some spy-hole in one of thegate-towers."
His guess was right. It was the Caid coming home, and Maieddine was withhim; for Lella M'Barka had been obliged to rest for three days at thefarmhouse on the hill, and the Caid's guest had accompanied him beforesunrise this morning to see a favourite white mehari, or racing camel,belonging to Sidi Elaid ben Sliman, which was very ill, in care of awise man of the village. Now the mehari was dead, and as Maieddineseemed impatient to get back, they were riding home, in spite of thenoon heat.
Maieddine had left the house reluctantly this morning. Not that he couldoften see Victoria, who was nursing M'Barka, and looking so wistful thathe guessed she had half hoped to find her sister waiting behind thewhite wall on the golden hill.
Though he could expect little of the girl's society, and there waslittle reason to fear that harm would come to her, or that she wouldsteal away in his absence, still he had hated to ride out of the gateand leave her. If the Caid had not made a point of his coming, he wouldgladly have stayed behind. Now, when he looked up and saw a yellowmotor-car at the gate, he believed that his feeling had been apresentiment, a w
arning of evil, which he ought so have heeded.
He and the Caid were a long way off when he caught sight of the car, andheard its pantings, carried by the clear desert air. He could not becertain of its identity, but he prided himself upon his keen sight andhearing, and where they failed, instinct stepped in. He was sure that itwas the car which had waited for Stephen Knight when the _Charles Quex_came in, the car of Nevill Caird, about whom he had made inquiriesbefore leaving Algiers. Maieddine knew, of course, that Victoria hadbeen to the Djenan el Djouad, and he was intensely suspicious as well asjealous of Knight, because of the letter Victoria had written. He knewalso that the two Englishmen had been asking questions at the Hotel dela Kasbah; and he was not surprised to see the yellow car in front ofthe Caid's gates. Now that he saw it, he felt dully that he had alwaysknown it would follow him.
If only he had been in the house, it would not have mattered. He wouldhave been able to prevent Knight and Caird from seeing Victoria, or evenfrom having the slightest suspicion that she was, or had been, there. Itwas the worst of luck that he should be outside the gates, for now hecould not go back while the Englishmen were there. Knight wouldcertainly recognize him, and guess everything that he did not know.
Maieddine thought very quickly. He dared not ride on, lest the men inthe car should have a field-glass. The only thing was to let Ben Slimango alone, so that, if eyes up there on the hill were watching, it mightseem that the Caid was parting from some friend who lived in thevillage. He would have to trust Elaid's discretion and tact, as he knewalready he might trust his loyalty. Only--the situation was desperate.Tact, and an instinct for the right word, the frank look, were wortheven more than loyalty at this moment. And one never quite knew how farto trust another man's judgment. Besides, the mischief might have beendone before Ben Sliman could arrive on the scene; and at the thought ofwhat might happen, Maieddine's heart seemed to turn in his breast. Hehad never known a sensation so painful to body and mind, and it washideous to feel helpless, to know that he could do only harm, and notgood, by riding up the hill. Nevertheless, he said to himself, if heshould see Victoria come out to speak with these men, he would go. Hewould perhaps kill them, and the chauffeur too. Anything rather thangive up the girl now; for the sharp stab of the thought that he mightlose her, that Stephen Knight might have her, made him ten times more inlove than he had been before. He wished that Allah might strike the menin the yellow car dead; although, ardent Mussulman as he was, he had nohope that such a glorious miracle would happen.
"It is those men from Algiers of whom I told thee," he said to the Caid."I must stop below. They must not recognize me, or the dark one who wason the ship, will guess. Possibly he suspects already that I stand forsomething in this affair."
"Who can have sent them to my house?" Ben Sliman wondered. The two drewin their horses and put on the manner of men about to bid each othergood-bye.
"I hope, I am almost sure, that they know nothing of _her_, or of me.Probably, when inquiring about Ben Halim, in order to hear of hersister, and so find out where she has gone, they learned only that BenHalim once lived here. If thy servants are discreet, it may be that noharm will come from this visit."
"They will be discreet. Have no fear," the Caid assured him. Yet it wason his tongue to say; "the lady herself, when she hears the sound of thecar, may do some unwise thing." But he did not finish the sentence. Eventhough the young girl--whom he had not seen--was a Roumia, obsessed withhorrible, modern ideas, which at present it would be dangerous to tryand correct, he could not discuss her with Maieddine. If she showedherself to the men, it could not be helped. What was to be, would be.Mektub!
"Far be it from me to distrust my friend's servants," said Maieddine;"but if in their zeal they go too far and give an impression ofsomething to hide, it would be as bad as if they let drop a word toomany."
"I will ride on and break any such impression if it has been made," BenSliman consoled him. "Trust me. I will be as gracious to these Roumis asif they were true believers."
"I do trust thee completely," answered the younger man. "While they areat thy gates, or within them, I must wait with patience. I cannot remainhere in the open--yet I wish to be within sight, that I may see with myown eyes all that happens. What if I ride to one of the black tents, andask for water to wash the mouth of my horse? If they have it not, it isno matter."
"Thine is a good thought," said Ben Sliman, and rode on, putting hisslim white Arab horse to a trot.
To the left from the group of adobe houses, and at about the samedistance from the rough track on which they had been riding, was acluster of nomad tents, like giant bats with torpid wings spread outink-black on the gold of the desert. A little farther off was anothersmall encampment of a different tribe; and their tents were brown,striped with black and yellow. They looked like huge butterfliesresting. But Maieddine thought of no such similes. He was a child of theSahara, and used to the tents and the tent-dwellers. His own father, theAgha, lived half the year in a great tent, when he was with his douar,and Maieddine had been born under the roof of camel's hair. His ownpeople and these people were not kin, and their lives lay far apart; yeta man of one nomad tribe understands all nomads, though he be a chief'sson, and they as poor as their own ill-fed camels. His pride was hisnomad blood, for all men of the Sahara, be they princes orcamel-drivers, look with scorn upon the sedentary people, those of thegreat plain of the Tell, and fat eaters of ripe dates in the cities.
The eight or ten black tents were gathered round one, a little higher, alittle less ragged than the others--the tent of the Kebir, or headman;but it was humble enough. There would have been room and to spare for adozen such under the _tente sultane_ of the Agha, at his douar south ofEl Aghouat.
As Maieddine rode up, a buzz of excitement rose in the hive. Some oneran to tell the Kebir that a great Sidi was arriving, and the headmancame out from his tent, where he had been meditating or dozing after thechanting of the midday prayer--the prayer of noon.
He was a thin, elderly man, with an eagle eye to awe his women-folk, andan old burnous of sheep's wool, which was of a deep cream colour becauseit had not been washed for many years. Yet he smelt good, with a smellthat was like the desert, and there was no foul odour in the miniaturedouar, as in European dwellings of the very poor. There is never a smellof uncleanliness about Arabs, even those people who must perform most ofthe ablutions prescribed by their religion with sand instead of water.But the Saharian saying is that the desert purifies all things.
The Kebir was polite though not servile to Maieddine, and while thehorse borrowed from the Caid was having its face economically sprinkledwith water from a brown goat-skin, black coffee was being hospitablyprepared for the guest by the women of the household, unveiled ofcourse, as are all women of the nomad tribes, except those of highestbirth.
Maieddine did not want the coffee, but it would have been an insult torefuse, and he made laboured conversation with the Kebir, his eyes andthoughts fixed on the Caid's gate and the yellow motor-car. He hardlysaw the tents, beneath whose low-spread black wings eyes looked out athim, as the bright eyes of chickens look out from under the mother-hen'sfeathers. They were all much alike, though the Kebir's, as befitted hisposition, was the best, made of wide strips of black woollen materialstitched together, spread tightly over stout poles, and pegged down intothe hard sand. There was a partition dividing the tent in two, apartition made of one or two old haicks, woven by hand, and if Maieddinehad been interested, he could have seen his host's bedding arranged forthe day; a few coarse rugs and _frechias_ piled up carelessly, out ofthe way. There was a bale of camels' hair, ready for weaving, and on topof it a little boy was curled up asleep. From the tent-poles hung ananimal's skin, drying, and a cradle of netted cords in which swung andslept a swaddled baby no bigger than a doll. It was a girl, thereforeits eyes were blackened with kohl, and its eyebrows neatly sketched onwith paint, as they had been since the unfortunate day of its birth,when the father grumbled because it was not a "child," but
only aworthless female.
The mother of the four weeks' old doll, a fine young woman tinkling withArab silver, left her carpet-weaving to grind the coffee, while herwithered mother-in-law brightened with brushwood the smouldering fire ofcamel-dung. The women worked silently, humbly, though they would havebeen chattering if the great Sidi stranger had not been there; but twoor three little children in orange and scarlet rags played gigglingamong the rubbish outside the tent--a broken bassour-frame, orpalanquin, waiting to be mended; date boxes, baskets, and wooden plates;old kous-kous bowls, bundles of alfa grass, chicken feathers, and aninfant goat with its mother.
The sound of children's shrill laughter, which passed unnoticed by theparents, who had it always in their ears, rasped Maieddine's nerves, andhe would have liked to strike or kick the babies into silence. MostArabs worship children, even girls, and are invariably kind to them, butto-day Maieddine hated anything that ran about disturbingly and made anoise.
Now the Caid had reached the gate, and was talking to the men in themotor-car. Would he send them away? No, the gate was being opened by aservant. Ben Sliman must have invited the Roumis in. Possibly it was awise thing to do, yet how dangerous, how terribly dangerous, withVictoria perhaps peeping from one of the tiny windows at the women'scorner of the house, which looked on the court! They could not see herthere, but she could see them, and if she were tired of travelling anddancing attendance on a fidgety invalid--if she repented her promise tokeep the secret of this journey?
Maieddine's experience of women inclined him to think that they alwaysdid forget their promises to a man the moment his back was turned.Victoria was different from the women of his race, or those he had metin Paris, yet she was, after all, a woman; and there was no truer sayingthan that you might more easily prophesy the direction of the wind thansay what a woman was likely to do. The coffee which the Kebir handed himmade him feel sick, as if he had had a touch of the sun. What washappening up there on the hill, behind the gates which stood half open?What would she do--his Rose of the West?