XLVI
It was after one o'clock when Stephen and Nevill bade each other goodnight, after a stroll out of the town into the desert. They had built upplans and torn them down again, and no satisfactory decision had beenreached, for both feared that, if they attempted to threaten themarabout with their knowledge of his past, he would defy them to dotheir worst. Without Saidee and Victoria, they could bring forward nodefinite and visible proof that the great marabout, Sidi El HadjMohammed Abd el Kadr, and the disgraced Captain Cassim ben Halim wereone. And the supreme difficulty was to produce Saidee and Victoria aswitnesses. It was not even certain, if the marabout were threatened andthought himself in danger, that he might not cause the sisters todisappear. That thought prevented the two men from coming easily to anydecision. Sabine had not told them that he knew Saidee, or that he hadactually heard of the girl's arrival in the Zaouia. He longed to telland join with them in their quest; but it would have seemed a disloyaltyto the woman he loved. It needed a still greater incentive to make himspeak out; while as for the Englishmen, though they would gladly havetaken his advice, they hesitated to give away the secret of Saidee Ray'shusband to a representative of Ben Halim's stern judge, France.
Various plans for action had been discussed, yet Stephen and Nevill bothfelt that all were subject to modification. Each had the hope that thesilent hours would bring inspiration, and so they parted at last. ButStephen had not been in his room ten minutes when there came a gentletap at his door. He thought that it must be Nevill, returning toannounce the birth of a new idea; but in the dark corridor stood ashadowy Arab, he who did most of the work in the hotel outside thekitchen.
"A person has come with a letter for Monsieur," the man mumbled in badFrench, his voice so sleepy as to be almost inarticulate. "He would notgive it to me, the foolish one. He insists on putting it into the handof Monsieur. No doubt it is a pourboire he wants. He has followed me tothe head of the stairs, and he has no French."
"Where does he come from?" asked Stephen.
"He will not say. But he is a Negro whom I have never seen in the city."
"Call him," Stephen said. And in a moment a thin young Negro, dusted allover with sand, came into the square of light made by the open door. Hislegs were bare, and over his body he appeared to have no other garmentbut a ragged, striped gandourah. In a purple-black hand he held a foldedpiece of paper, and Stephen's heart jumped at sight of his own namewritten in a clear handwriting. It was not unlike Victoria's but it wasnot hers.
"The man says he cannot take a letter back," explained the Arab servant."But if Monsieur will choose a word to answer, he will repeat it overand over until he has it by heart. Then he will pass it on in the sameway."
Stephen was reading his letter and scarcely heard. It was Victoria'ssister who wrote. She signed herself at the bottom of the bit ofpaper--a leaf torn from a copy book--"Saidee Ray," as though she hadnever been married. She had evidently written in great haste, but thething she proposed was clearly set forth, as if in desperation. Victoriadid not approve, she said, and hoped some other plan might be found; butin Saidee's opinion there was no other plan which offered any realchance of success. In their situation, they could not afford to stick attrifles, and neither could Mr. Knight, if he wished to save Victoriafrom being married against her will to an Arab. There was no time tolose if anything were to be done; and if Mr. Knight were willing to takethe way suggested, would he say the word "yes," very distinctly, to themessenger, as it would not be safe to try and smuggle a letter into theZaouia.
It was a strange, even a detestable plot, which Saidee suggested; yetwhen Stephen had turned it over in his mind for a moment he said theword "yes" with the utmost distinctness. The sand-covered Negro imitatedhim several times, and having achieved success, was given more moneythan he had ever seen in his life. He would not tell the Arab, whoescorted him downstairs again, whence he had come, but it was a longdistance and he had walked. He must return on foot, and if he were to beback by early morning, he ought to get off at once. Stephen made noeffort to keep him, though he would have liked Saidee's messenger to beseen by Caird.
Nevill had not begun to undress, when Stephen knocked at his door. Hewas about to begin one of his occasional letters to Josette, with hiswriting materials arranged abjectly round one tallow candle, on awashhand stand.
"That beast of a Cassim! He's going to try and marry the poor child offto his friend Maieddine!" Nevill growled, reading the letter. "Stick attrifles indeed! I should think not. This is Providential--just when wecouldn't quite make up our minds what to do next."
"You're not complimentary to Providence," said Stephen. "Seems to me ahorrid sort of thing to do, though I'm not prepared to say I won't doit. _She_ doesn't approve, her sister says, you see----"
"Who knows the man better, his wife or the girl?"
"That goes without saying. Well, I'm swallowing my scruples as fast as Ican get them down, though they're a lump in my throat. However, wewouldn't hurt the little chap, and if the father adores him, as shesays, we'd have Ben Halim pretty well under our thumbs, to squeeze himas we chose. Knowing his secret as we do, he wouldn't dare apply to theFrench for help, for fear we'd give him away. We must make it clear thatwe well know who he is, and that if he squeals, the fat's in the fire!"
"That's the right spirit. We'll make him shake in his boots for fear wegive not only the secret, but the boy, over to the tender mercies of theauthorities. For it's perfectly true that if the Government knew what atrick had been played on them, they'd oust the false marabout in favourof the rightful man, whoever he may be, clap the usurper into prison,and make the child a kind of--er--ward in chancery, or whatever theequivalent is in France. Oh, I can tell you, my boy, this idea is theinspiration of a genius! The man will see we're making no idle threat,that we can't carry out. He'll have to hand over the ladies, or he'llspend some of his best years in prison, and never see his beloved boyagain."
"First we've got to catch our hare. But there Sabine could help us, ifwe called him in."
"Yes. And we couldn't do better than have him with us, I think, Legs,now we've come to this turn in the road."
"I agree so far. Still, let's keep Ben Halim's secret to ourselves. Wemust have it to play with. I believe Sabine's a man to trust; but he's aFrench officer; and a plot of that sort he might feel it his duty tomake known."
"All right. We'll keep back that part of the business. It isn'tnecessary to give it away. But otherwise Sabine's the man for us. He's aromantic sort of chap, not unlike me in that; it's what appealed to mein him the minute we began to draw each other out. He'll snap at anadventure to help a pretty girl even though he's never seen her; and heknows the marabout's boy and the guardian-uncle. He was talking to meabout them this afternoon. Let's go and rout him out. I bet he'll have aplan to propose."
"Rather cheek, to rouse him up in the middle of the night. We mightwait till morning, since I don't see that we can do anything usefulbefore."
"He only got in from seeing some friend in barracks, about one. Hedoesn't look like a sleepy-head. Besides, if I'm not mistaken, I smellhis cigarettes. He's probably lying on his bed, reading a novel."
But Sabine was reading something to him far more interesting than anynovel written by the greatest genius of all ages; a collection ofSaidee's letters, which he invariably read through, from first to last,every night before even trying to sleep.
The chance to be in the game of rescue was new life to him. He grudgedSaidee's handwriting to another man, even though he felt that, somehow,she had hoped that he would see it, and that he would work with theothers. He laughed at the idea that the adventure would be moredangerous for him as a French officer, if anything leaked out, than fortwo travelling Englishmen.
"I would give my soul to be in this!" he exclaimed, before he knew whathe was saying, or what meaning might be read into his words. But bothfaces spoke surprise. He was abashed, yet eager. The impulse of hisexcitement led him on, and he began stammering out the story he had notme
ant to tell.
"I can't say the things you ought to know, without the things that noone ought to know," he explained in his halting English, plunging backnow and then inadvertently into fluent French. "It is wrong not toconfess that all the time I know that young lady is there--in theZaouia. But there is a reason I feel it not right to confess. Now itwill be different because of this letter that has come. You must hearall and you can judge me."
So the story was poured out: the romance of that wonderful day when,while he worked at the desert well in the hot sun, a lady went by, withher servants, to the Moorish baths. How her veil had fallen aside, andhe had seen her face--oh, but the face of a houri, an angel. Yet sosad--tragedy in the beautiful eyes. In all his life he had not seen suchbeauty or felt his heart so stirred. Through an attendant at the bathshe had found out that the lovely lady was the wife of the marabout, aRoumia, said not to be happy. From that moment he would have sacrificedhis hopes of heaven to set her free. He had written--he had laid hislife at her feet. She had answered. He had written again. Then thesister had arrived. He had been told in a letter of her coming. At firsthe had thought it impossible to confide a secret concerninganother--that other a woman--even to her sister's friends. But now therewas no other way. They must all work together. Some day he hoped thatthe dear prisoner would be free to give herself to him as his wife. Tillthen, she was sacred, even in his thoughts. Even her sister could findno fault with his love. And would the new friends shake his hand wishinghim joy in future.
So all three shook hands with great heartiness; and perhaps Sabine wouldhave become still more expansive had he not been brought up to creditEnglishmen stolid fellows at best with a favourite motto: "Deeds, notwords."
As Sabine told his story, Stephen's brain had been busily weaving. Hedid not like the thing they had to do, but if it must be done, the onlyhope lay in doing it well and thoroughly. Sabine's acquaintance with theboy and his guardian would be a great help.
"I've been thinking how we can best carry out this business," he said,when the pact of friendship had been sealed by clasp of hands. "We can'tafford to have any row or scandal. It must somehow be managed withoutnoise, for the sake of--the ladies, most of all, and next, for the sakeof Captain Sabine. As a Frenchman and an officer, it would certainly bea lot worse for him than for us, if we landed him in any mess with theauthorities."
"I care nothing for myself." Sabine broke in, hotly.
"All the more reason for us to keep our heads cool if we can, and lookafter you. We must get the boy to go away of his own accord."
"That is more easy to propose than to do," said Sabine, with a shrug ofthe shoulders.
"Well, an idea has come into my head. There may be something in it--ifyou can help us work it. We couldn't do it without you. Do you know thechild and his uncle so well that it wouldn't seem queer to invite themto the hotel for a meal--say luncheon to-morrow, or rather to-day--forit's morning now?"
"Yes, I could do that. And they would come. It would be an amusement forthem. Life is dull here," Sabine eagerly replied.
"Good. Does the child speak French?"
"A little. He is learning in the school."
"That's lucky, for I don't know a dozen words of Arab, and even myfriend Caird can't be eloquent in it. Wings, do you think you could workup the boy to a wild desire for a tour in a motor-car?"
"I would bet on myself to do that. I could make him a motor fiend,between the _hors d'oeuvres_ and fruit."
"Our great stumbling block, then, is the uncle. I suppose he's a sort ofwatch-dog, who couldn't be persuaded to leave the boy alone a minute?"
"I am not sure of that," said Sabine. "It is true he is a watch-dog; butI could throw him a bone I think would tempt him to desert his post--ifhe had no suspicion of a trap. What you want, I begin to see, is to gethim out of the way, so that Monsieur Caird could induce the littleMohammed to go away willingly?"
"Yes."
"_Eh bien!_ It is as good as done. I see the way. Hassan ben Saad, therespectable uncle, has a secret weakness which I have found out. He haslost his head for the prettiest and youngest dancer in the quarter ofthe Ouled Nails. She is a great favourite, Nedjma, and she will notlook at him. He is too old and dry. Besides, he has no money except whatthe marabout gives him as guardian to the boy at school. Hassan sendsNedjma such presents as he can afford, and she laughs at them with theother girls, though she keeps them, of course. To please me, she willwrite a letter to Ben Saad, telling him that if he comes to her at once,without waiting a moment, he may find her heart soft for him. Thisletter shall be brought to our table, at the hotel, while Hassanfinishes his _dejeuner_ with us. He will make a thousand apologies andtell a thousand lies, saying it is a call of business. Probably he willpretend that it concerns the marabout, of whom he boasts always as hisrelative. Then he will go, in a great hurry, leaving the child, becausewe will kindly invite him to do so; and he will promise to return soonfor his nephew. But Nedjma will be so sweet that he will not returnsoon. He will be a long time away--hours. He will forget the boy, andeverything but his hope that at last Nedjma will love him. Does thatplan of mine fit in with yours, Monsieur?"
"Perfectly," said Knight. "What do you think, Wings?"
"As you do. You're both geniuses. And I'll try to keep my end up byfascinating the child. He shall be mine, body and soul, by the end oflunch. When he finds that we're leaving Oued Tolga, instantly, and thathe must be sent ignominiously home, he shall be ready to howl withgrief. Then I'll ask him suddenly, how he'd like to go on a little trip,just far enough to meet my motor-car, and have a ride in it. He'll sayyes, like a shot, if he's a normal boy. And if the uncle's away, it willbe nobody's business even if they see the marabout's son having a ridebehind me on my horse, as he might with his own father. Trust me to lurethe imp on with us afterward, step by step, in a dream of happiness. Iwas always a born lurer--except when I wanted a thing or person formyself."
"You say, lure him on with 'us'" Stephen cut in. "But it will have tobe you alone. I must stay at this end of the line, and when the timecomes, give the marabout our ultimatum. The delay will be almostintolerable, but of course the only thing is to lie low until you're sofar on the way to Touggourt with the child, that a rescue scheme wouldbe no good. Touggourt's a bit on the outskirts of the marabout's zone ofinfluence, let's hope. Besides, he wouldn't dare attack you there, inthe shadow of the French barracks. It's his business to help keep peacein the desert, and knowing what we know of his past, I think with thechild out of his reach he'll be pretty well at our mercy."
"When Hassan ben Saad finds the boy gone, he will be very sick," saidSabine. "But I shall be polite and sympathetic, and will give him goodadvice. He is in deadly awe of the marabout, and I will say that, if thechild's father hears what has happened, there will be noforgiveness--nothing but ruin. Waiting is the game to play, I willcounsel Hassan. I shall remind him that, being Friday, no questions willbe asked at school till Monday, and I shall raise his hopes that littleMohammed will be back soon after that, if not before. At worst, I willsay, he can pretend the child is shut up in the house with a cough. Ishall assure him that Monsieur Caird is a man of honour and greatriches; that no harm can come to little Mohammed in his care. I willexplain how the boy pleaded to go, and make Hassan happy with theexpectation that in a few days Monsieur Caird is coming back to fetchhis friend; that certainly Mohammed will be with him, safe and sound;and that, if he would not lose his position, he must say nothing of whathas happened to any one who might tell the marabout."
"Do you think you can persuade him to keep a still tongue in his headtill it suits us to have him speak, or write a letter for me to take?"asked Stephen.
"I am sure of it. Hassan is a coward, and you have but to look him inthe face to see he has no self-reliance. He must lean on some one else.He shall lean on me. And Nedjma shall console him, so that time willpass, and he shall hardly know how it is going. He will speak when wewant him to speak or write, not before."
The three men tal
ked on in Stephen's room till dawn, deciding detailswhich cropped up for instant settlement. At last it was arranged--takingthe success of their plan for granted--that Stephen should wait a dayand a half after the departure of Nevill's little caravan. By that time,it should have got half-way to Touggourt; but there was one bordj whereit would come in touch with the telegraph. Stephen would then start forthe Zaouia, for an interview with the marabout, who, no doubt, wasalready wondering why he did not follow up his first attempt by asecond. He would hire or buy in the city a racing camel fitted with abassour large enough for two, and this he would take with him to theZaouia, ready to bring away both sisters. No allusion to Saidee would bemade in words. The "ultimatum" would concern Victoria only, as the eldersister was wife to the marabout, and no outsider could assume to havejurisdiction over her. But as it was certain that Victoria would notstir without Saidee, a demand for one was equivalent to a demand for theother.
This part of the plan was to be subject to modification, in case Stephensaw Victoria, and she proposed any course of action concerning hersister. As for Sabine, having helped to make the plot he was to holdhimself ready at Oued Tolga, the city, for Stephen's return from theZaouia. And the rest was on the knees of the gods.