XLVII
For the second time Stephen entered by the great gates of the Zaouia.The lounging Negro, who had let him in before, stared at the grey mehariwith the red-curtained bassour, whose imposing height dwarfed theRoumi's horse. No doubt the man wondered why it was there, since onlywomen or invalids travelled in a bassour;--and his eyes dwelt withinterest on the two Arabs from the town of Oued Tolga. Perhaps hethought that they would satisfy his curiosity, when the visitor had goneinside. But Stephen thought differently. The Arabs would tell nothing,because they knew nothing which could explain the mystery.
The Negro had no French, and either did not understand or pretended notto understand the Roumi's request to see the marabout. This lookedominous, because Stephen had been let in without difficulty the firsttime; and the Negro seemed intelligent enough to be stupid in accordancewith instructions. Great insistance, however, and the production ofdocuments (ordinary letters, but effective to impress the uneducatedintelligence) persuaded the big gate-keeper to send for an interpreter.
Stephen waited with outward patience, though a loud voice seemed cryingin his ears, "What will happen next? What will the end be--success, or asudden fluke that will mean failure?" He barred his mind againstmisgivings, but he had hoped for some sign of life when he rode in sightof the white roofs; and there had been no sign.
For many minutes he waited; and then came an old man who had showed himto the marabout's reception room on his first visit. Stephen was gladto see this person, because he could speak a little French, and becausehe had a mild air, as if he might easily be browbeaten.
"I must see Sidi Mohammed on important business," Stephen said.
The old man was greatly grieved, but Sidi Mohammed was indisposed andnot able to speak with any one. Would Monsieur care to visit the mosqueagain, and would he drink coffee?
So this was the game! Stephen was not surprised. His face flushed andhis jaw squared. He would not drink coffee, and he would not givehimself the pleasure of seeing the mosque; but would trouble theinterpreter with a message to the marabout; and would await an answer.Then Stephen wrote on one of his visiting cards, in English. "I haveimportant news of your son, which you would regret not hearing. And itcan be told to no one but yourself."
In less than ten minutes the messenger came back. The marabout, thoughnot well, would receive Monsieur. Stephen was led through the rememberedlabyrinth of covered passages, dim and cool, though outside the desertsand flamed under the afternoon sun; and as he walked he was aware ofsoftly padding footsteps behind him. Once, he turned his head quickly,and saw that he was followed by a group of three tall Negroes. Theylooked away when they met his eyes, as if they were on his heels byaccident; but he guessed that they had been told to watch him, and tookthe caution as a compliment. Yet he realized that he ran some risk incoming to this place on such an errand as his. Already the maraboutlooked upon him as an enemy, no doubt; and it was not impossible thatnews of the boy's disappearance had by this time reached the Zaouia, inspite of his guardian's selfish cowardice. If so, and if the fatherconnected the kidnapping of his son with to-day's visitor, he might lethis desire for revenge overcome prudence. To prove his power bymurdering an Englishman, his guest, would do the desert potentate moreharm than good in the end; yet men of mighty passions do not always stopto think of consequences, and Stephen was not blind to his own danger.If the marabout lost his temper, not a man in the Zaouia but would beready to obey a word or gesture, and short work might be made ofVictoria Ray's only champion. However, Stephen counted a good deal onBen Halim's caution, and on the fact that his presence in the Zaouia wasknown outside. He meant to acquaint his host with that fact as a prefaceto their conversation.
"The marabout will come presently," the mild interpreter announced, whenhe had brought Stephen once more to the reception room adjoining themosque. So saying, he bowed himself away, and shut the door; but Stephenopened it almost instantly, to look out. It was as he expected. The tallNegroes stood lazily on guard. They scarcely showed surprise at beingcaught, yet their fixed stare was somewhat strained.
"I wonder if there's to be a signal?" thought Stephen.
It was very still in the reception-room of Sidi Mohammed. The young mansat down opposite the door of that inner room from which the marabouthad come to greet him the other day, but he did not turn his back fullyupon the door behind which were the watchers. Minutes passed on. Nothinghappened, and there was no sound. Stephen grew impatient. He knew, fromwhat he had heard of the great Zaouia, that manifold and strenuous liveswere being lived all around him in this enormous hive, which wasuniversity, hospice, mosque, and walled village in one. Yet there was nohum of men talking, of women chatting over their work, or childrenlaughing at play. The silence was so profound that it was emphasized tohis ears by the droning of a fly in one of the high, iron-barredwindows; and in spite of himself he started when it was suddenly andferociously broken by a melancholy roar like the thunderous yawn of abored lion. But still the marabout did not appear. Evidently he intendedto show the persistent Roumi that he was not to be intimidated orbrowbeaten, or else he did not really mean to come at all.
The thought that perhaps, while he waited, he had been quietly made aprisoner, brought Stephen to his feet. He was on the point of trying theinner door, when it opened, and the masked marabout stood looking athim, with keen eyes which the black veil seemed to darken and makesinister.
Without speaking, the Arab closed, but did not latch, the door behindhim; and standing still he spoke in the deep voice that was slightlymuffled by the thin band of woollen stuff over the lower part of hisface.
"Thou hast sent me an urgent summons to hear tidings of my son," he saidin his correct, measured French. "What canst thou know, which I do notknow already?"
"I began to think you were not very desirous to hear my news," repliedStephen, "as I have been compelled to wait so long that my friends inOued Tolga will be wondering what detains me in the Zaouia, or whetherany accident has befallen me."
"As thou wert doubtless informed, I am not well, and was not prepared toreceive guests. I have made an exception in thy favour, because of themessage thou sent. Pray, do not keep me in suspense, if harm has come tomy son." Sidi Mohammed did not invite his guest to sit down.
"No harm has come to the boy," Stephen reassured him. "He is in goodhands."
"In charge of his uncle, whom I have appointed his guardian," themarabout broke in.
"He doesn't know anything yet," Stephen said to himself, quickly. Then,aloud: "At present, he is not in charge of his uncle, but is with afriend of mine. He will be sent back safe and well to Oued Tolga, whenyou have discovered the whereabouts of Miss Ray--the young lady of whomyou knew nothing the other day--and when you have produced her. I knownow, with absolute certainty, that she is here in the Zaouia. When sheleaves it, with me and the escort I have brought, to join her friends,you will see your son again, but not before; and never unless Miss Rayis given up."
The marabout's dark hands clenched themselves, and he took a stepforward, but stopped and stood still, tall and rigid, withinarm's-length of the Englishman.
"Thou darest to come here and threaten me!" he said. "Thou art a fool.If thou and thy friends have stolen my child, all will be punished, notby me, but by the power which is set above me to rule thisland--France."
"We have no fear of such punishment, or any other," Stephen answered."We have 'dared' to take the boy; and I have dared, as you say, to comehere and threaten, but not idly. We have not only your son, but yoursecret, in our possession; and if Miss Ray is not allowed to go, or ifanything happens to me, you will never see your boy again, becauseFrance herself will come between you and him. You will be sent to prisonas a fraudulent pretender, and the boy will become a ward of the nation.He will no longer have a father."
The dark eyes blazed above the mask, though still the marabout did notmove. "Thou art a liar and a madman," he said. "I do not understand thyravings, for they have no meaning."
"They wil
l have a fatal meaning for Cassim ben Halim if they reach theears of the French authorities, who believe him dead," said Stephen,quietly. "Ben Halim was only a disgraced officer, not a criminal, untilhe conspired against the Government, and stole a great position whichbelonged to another man. Since then, prison doors are open for him ifhis plottings are found out."
Unwittingly Stephen chose words which were as daggers in the breast ofthe Arab. Although made without knowledge of the secret work to whichthe marabout had vowed himself and all that was his, the young man'sthreat sounded like a hint so terrible in its meaning that Ben Halim'sheart turned suddenly to water. He saw himself exposed, defeated, handand foot in the enemy's power. How this Roumi had wormed out the hiddentruth he could not conceive; but he realized on the instant that thesituation was desperate, and his brain seemed to him to become adelicate and intricate piece of mechanism, moving with oiled wheels. Allthe genius of a great soldier and a great diplomat were needed at oneand the same time, and if he could not call such inspiration to his aidhe was lost. He had been tempted for one volcanic second to stab Stephenwith the dagger which he always carried under his burnous andembroidered vest, but a lightning-flash of reason bade him hold hishand. There were other ways--there must be other ways. FortunatelyMaieddine had not been told of the Roumi's presence in the Zaouia, andneed not learn anything concerning him or his proposals until the timecame when a friend could be of use and not a hindrance. Even in thismoment, when he saw before his eyes a fiery picture of ruin, Ben Halimrealized that Maieddine's passion for Victoria Ray might be utilized byand by, for the second time.
Not once did the dark eyes falter or turn from the enemy's, and Stephencould not help admiring the Arab's splendid self-control. It wasimpossible to feel contempt for Ben Halim, even for Ben Halim trapped.Stephen had talked with an air of cool indifference, his hands in hispockets, but in one pocket was a revolver, and he kept his fingers on itas the marabout stood facing him silently after the ultimatum.
"I have listened to the end," the Arab said at last, "because I wishedto hear what strange folly thou hadst got in thy brain. But now, whenthou hast finished apparently, I cannot make head or tail of thyaccusations. Of a man named Cassim ben Halim I may have heard, but he isdead. Thou canst hardly believe in truth that he and I are one; but evenif thou dost believe it, I care little, for if thou wert unwise enoughto go with such a story to my masters and friends the French, theycould bring a hundred proofs that thy tale was false, and they wouldlaugh thee to scorn. I have no fear of anything thou canst do againstme; but if it is true that thou and thy friend have stolen my son,rather than harm should come to him who is my all on earth, I may beweak enough to treat with thee."
"I have brought proof that the boy is gone," returned Stephen. For themoment, he tacitly accepted the attitude which the marabout chose totake up. "Let the fellow save his face by pretending to yield entirelyfor the boy's sake," he said to himself. "What can it matter so long ashe does yield?"
In the pocket with the revolver was a letter which Sabine had inducedHassan ben Saad to write, and now Stephen produced it. The writing wasin Arabic, of course; but Sabine, who knew the language well, hadtranslated every word for him before he started from Oued Tolga. Stephenknew, therefore, that the boy's uncle, without confessing how he hadstrayed from duty, admitted that, "by an incredible misfortune," theyoung Mohammed had been enticed away from him. He feared, Hassan benSaad added, to make a disturbance, as an influential friend--CaptainSabine--advised him to inform the marabout of what had happened beforetaking public action which the child's father might disapprove.
The Arab frowned as he read on, not wholly because of his anger with theboy's guardian, though that burned in his heart, hot as a new-kindledfire, and could be extinguished only by revenge.
"This Captain Sabine," he said slowly, "I know slightly. He called uponme at a time when he made a well in the neighbourhood. Was it he who putinto thine head these ridiculous notions concerning a dead man? I warnthee to answer truly if thou wouldst gain anything from me."
"My countrymen don't, as a rule, transact business by tellingdiplomatic lies," said Stephen smiling, as he felt that he could nowafford to smile. "Captain Sabine did not put the notion into my head."
"Hast thou spoken of it to him?"
Stephen shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I do not see that I'm calledupon to answer that question. All I will say is, you need have no fearof Captain Sabine or of any one else, once Miss Ray is safely out ofthis place."
The marabout turned this answer over quickly in his mind. He knew that,if Sabine or any Frenchman suspected his identity and his plans for thefuture, he was irretrievably lost. No private consideration would inducea French officer to spare him, if aware that he hoped eventually tooverthrow the rule of France in North Africa. This being the case (andbelieving that Knight had learned of the plot), he reflected that Sabinecould not have been taken into the secret, otherwise the Englishman darenot make promises. He saw too, that it would have been impolitic forKnight to take Sabine into his confidence. A Frenchman in the secretwould have ruined this _coup d'etat_; and, beginning to respect Stephenas an enemy, he decided that he was too clever to be in real partnershipwith the officer. Ben Halim's growing conviction was that his wife,Saidee, had told Victoria all she knew and all she suspected, and thatthe girl had somehow contrived to smuggle a letter out of the Zaouia toher English lover.
The distrust and dislike he had long felt for Saidee suddenly burst intoa flame of hatred. He longed to crush under his foot the face he hadonce loved, to grind out its beauty with a spurred heel. And he hatedthe girl, too, though he could not punish her as he could punish Saidee,for he must have Maieddine's help presently, and Maieddine would insistthat she should be protected, whatever might happen to others. But hewas beginning to see light ahead, if he might take it for granted thathis secret was suspected by no more than four persons--Saidee,Victoria, and the two Englishmen who were acting for the girl.
"I see by this letter from my brother-in-law that it is even as thousayest; thou and thy friend together have committed the cruel wrong ofwhich thou boastest," Ben Halim said at last. "A father robbed of hisone son is as a stag pinned to earth with a spear through his heart. Heis in the hands of the hunter, his courage ebbing with his life-blood.Had this thing been done when thou wert here before, I should have beenpowerless to pay the tribute, for the lady over whom thou claimst aright was not within my gates. Now, I admit, she has come. If she wishto go with thee, she is free to do so. But I will send with her men ofmy own, to travel by her side, and refuse to surrender her until mychild is given into their hands."
"That is easy to arrange," Stephen agreed. "I will telegraph to myfriend, who is by this time--as you can see by your letter--two days'journey away or more. He will return with your son, and an escort, butonly a certain distance. I will meet him at some place appointed, and wewill hand the boy over to your men."
"It will be better that the exchange should be made here," said themarabout.
"I can see why it might be so from your point of view, but that view isnot ours. You have too much power here, and frankly, I don't trust you.You'll admit that I'd be a fool if I did! The meeting must be at somedistance from your Zaouia."
The marabout raised his eyebrows superciliously. They said--"So thou artafraid!" But Stephen was not to be taunted into an imprudence whereVictoria's safety was at stake.
"Those are our terms," he repeated.
"Very well, I accept," said the Arab. "Thou mayest send a message to thelady, inviting her to leave my house with thee; and I assure thee, thatin any case I would have no wish to keep her, other than the desire ofhospitality. Thou canst take her at once, if she will go; and passingthrough the city, with her and my men, thou canst send thy telegram.Appoint as a meeting place the Bordj of Toudja, one day's march from thetown of Oued Tolga. When my men have the child in their keeping, thouwilt be free to go in peace with the girl and thy friend."
"I should be glad if tho
u wouldst send for her, and let me talk with herhere," Stephen suggested.
"No, that cannot be," the marabout answered decidedly. "When she is outof my house, I wash my hands of her; but while she is under my roof itwould be shameful that she should speak, even in my presence, with astrange man."
Stephen was ready to concede a point, if he could get his wish inanother way. "Give me paper, then, and I will write to the lady," hesaid. "There will be an answer, and it must be brought to me quickly,for already I have stopped longer than I expected, and Captain Sabine,who knows I have come to call upon you and fetch a friend, may beanxious."
He spoke his last words with a certain emphasis, knowing that Ben Halimwould understand the scarcely veiled threat.
The marabout went into the next room, and got some French writing paper.Stephen wrote a hasty note, begging Victoria to leave the Zaouia underhis care. He would take her, he said, to Lady MacGregor, who had come toTouggourt on purpose to be at hand if wanted. He wrote in English, butbecause he was sure that Ben Halim knew the language, he said nothing toVictoria about her sister. Only he mentioned, as if carelessly, that hehad brought a good camel with a comfortable bassour large enough fortwo.
When the letter was in an envelope, addressed to Miss Ray, the marabouttook it from Stephen and handed it to somebody outside the door, nodoubt one of the three watchers. There were mumbled instructions inArabic, and ten minutes later an answer came back. Stephen could haveshouted for joy at sight of Victoria's handwriting. There were only afew lines, in pencil, but he knew that he would keep them always, withher first letter.
"Oh, how glad I am that you're here!" she wrote. "By and by I hope tothank you--but of course I can't come without my sister. She iswretched, and wants to leave the man who seems to her no longer ahusband, but she thinks he will not want to let her go. Tell him that itmust be both of us, or neither. Or if you feel it would be better, givehim this to read, and ask him to send an answer."
Stephen guessed why the girl had written in French. She had fancied thatthe marabout would not choose to admit his knowledge of English, and headmired the quickness of her wit in a sudden emergency.
As he handed the letter to the Arab, Stephen would have given a greatdeal to see the face under the black mask. He could read nothing of theman's mind through the downcast eyelids, with their long black fringe ofclose-set lashes. And he knew that Ben Halim must have finished theshort letter at least sixty seconds before he chose to look up from thepaper.
"It is best," the marabout said slowly, "that the two sisters gotogether. A man of Islam has the right to repudiate a woman who giveshim no children, but I have been merciful. Now an opportunity has cometo rid myself of a burden, without turning adrift one who is helplessand friendless. For my son's sake I have granted thy request; for my ownsake I grant the girl's request: but both, only on one condition--thatthou swearest in the name of thy God, and upon the head of thy father,never to breathe with thy lips, or put with thy hand upon paper, themalicious story about me, at which thou hast to-day hinted; that thouenforce upon the two sisters the same silence, which, before going, theymust promise me to guard for ever. Though there is no foundation for thewicked fabrication, and no persons of intelligence who know me wouldbelieve it, even if I had no proof, still for a man who holds a place ofspiritual eminence, evil gossip is a disgrace."
"I promise for myself, for my friend, and for both the ladies, silenceon that subject, so long as we may live. I swear before my God, and onthe head of my dead father, that I will keep my word, if you keep yoursto me," said Stephen, who knew only half the secret. Yet he wasastonished at gaining his point so easily. He had expected more trouble.Nevertheless, he did not see how the marabout could manage to play himfalse, if he wanted to get his boy and hide the truth about himself.
"I am content," said the Arab. "And thou shouldst be content, since thouhast driven a successful bargain, and it is as if the contract betweenus were signed in my heart's blood. Now, I will leave thee. When theladies are ready, thou shalt be called by one of the men who will be oftheir escort. It is not necessary that thou and I meet again, since wehave, I hope, finished our business together, once and for ever."
* * * * * * *
"Why is it that he lets me go, without even trying to make me swearnever to tell what I know?" Saidee asked Victoria, while all in hasteand in confusion they put together a few things for the long journey.Saidee packed the little volumes of her diary, with trembling fingers,and looked a frightened question at her sister.
"I'm thankful that he doesn't ask us," Victoria answered, "for wecouldn't promise not to tell, unless he would vow never to do thedreadful things you say he plans--lead a great rising, and massacre theFrench. Even to escape, one couldn't make a promise which might costthousands of lives."
"We could perhaps evade a promise, yet seem to do what he asked," saidSaidee, who had learned subtle ways in a school of subtlety. "I'mterrified that he _doesn't_ ask. Why isn't he afraid to let us go,without any assurances?"
"He knows that because you've been his wife, we wouldn't betray himunless we were forced to, in order to prevent massacres," Victoria triedto reassure her sister. "And perhaps for the sake of getting his boyback, he's willing to renounce all his horrible plans."
"Perhaps--since he worships the child," Saidee half agreed. "Yet--itdoesn't seem like Cassim to be so easily cowed, and to give up the wholeambition of his life, with scarcely a struggle, even for his child."
"You said, when you told me how you had written to Mr. Knight, thatCassim would be forced to yield, if they took the boy, and so the endwould justify the means."
"Yes. It was a great card to play. But--but I expected him to make metake a solemn oath never to tell what I know."
"Don't let's think of it," said Victoria. "Let's just be thankful thatwe're going, and get ready as quickly as we can, lest he should changehis mind at the last moment."
"Or lest Maieddine should find out," Saidee added. "But, if Cassimreally means us to go, he won't let Maieddine find out. He will thankAllah and the Prophet for sending the fever that keeps Maieddine in hisbedroom."
"Poor Maieddine!" Victoria half whispered. In her heart lurked kindnessfor the man who had so desperately loved her, even though love haddriven him to the verge of treachery. "I hope he'll forget all about meand be happy," she said. And then, because she was happy herself, andthe future seemed bright, she forgot Maieddine, and thought only ofanother.