"Don't begin by accusing the landlord of anything," Nevill advised, at
the hotel door. "He's got too much Arab blood in him to stand that.
You'd only make him tell you lies. We must seem to know things, and ask
questions as if we expected him to confirm our knowledge. That may
confuse him if he wants to lie. He won't be sure what ground to take."
The Arab porter was not in his place, but the proprietor sat in his den
behind the window. He was drinking a cup of thick, syrupy coffee, and
soaking a rusk in it. Stephen thought this a disgusting sight, and could
hardly bear to let his eyes rest on the thick rolls of fat that bulged
over the man's low collar, all the way round his neck like a yellow
ruff. Not trusting himself to speak just then, Stephen let Caird begin
the conversation.
The landlord bowed over his coffee and some letters he was reading, but
did not trouble to do more than half rise from his chair and sink back
again, solidly. These fine gentlemen would never be clients of his,
would never be instrumental in sending any one to him. Why should he put
himself out?
"We've had a letter from Miss Ray this morning," Nevill announced, after
a perfunctory exchange of "good days" in French.
The two young men both looked steadily at the proprietor of the hotel,
as Nevill said these words. The fat man did not show any sign of
embarrassment, however, unless his expectant gaze became somewhat fixed,
in an effort to prevent a blink. If this were so, the change was
practically imperceptible. "She had left here before six o'clock last
evening, hadn't she?"
"I cannot tell you, Monsieur. It is as I answered yesterday. I do not
know the time when she went out."
"You must know what she said when she went."
"On the contrary, Monsieur. The young lady did not speak with me
herself. She sent a message."
"And the message was that she was leaving your hotel?"
"First of all, that she had the intention of dining out. With a lady."
Stephen and Nevill looked at each other. With a lady? Could it be
possible that Mademoiselle Soubise, interested in the story, had called
and taken the girl away?
"What then?" went on Caird. "She let you know eventually that she'd made
up her mind to go altogether?"
"The message was that she might come back in some days. But yes,
Monsieur, she let me know that for the present she was leaving."
"Yet you didn't tell us this when we called!" exclaimed Stephen. "You
let us think she would be back later in the evening."
"Pardon me, Monsieur, if you remember, you asked _when_ Mademoiselle
would be back. I replied that I did not know. It was perfectly true. And
desolated as I was to inconvenience you, I could not be as frank as my
heart prompted. My regrettable reserve was the result of Mademoiselle's
expressed wish. She did not desire to have it known that she was leaving
the hotel, until she herself chose to inform her friends. As it seems
you have had a letter, Monsieur, I can now speak freely. Yesterday
evening I could not."
He looked like the last man whose heart would naturally prompt him to
frankness, but it seemed impossible to prove, at the moment, that he was
lying. It was on the cards that Miss Ray might have requested silence as
to her movements.
Stephen bit his lip to keep back an angry reproach, nevertheless, and
Caird reflected a moment before answering. Then he said slowly; "Look
here: we are both friends of Miss Ray, the only ones she has in Algiers,
except of course my aunt, Lady MacGregor, with whom she lunched
yesterday. We are afraid she has been imprudently advised by some one,
as she is young and inexperienced in travelling. Now, if you will find
out from your servants, and also let us know from your own observation,
exactly what she did yesterday, after returning from her visit to my
aunt--what callers she had, if any; to whose house she went, and so
on--we will make it worth your while. Lady MacGregor" (he made great
play with his relative's name, as if he wished the landlord to
understand that two young men were not the girl's only friends in
Algiers) "is very anxious to see Miss Ray. To spare her anxiety, we
offer a reward of a thousand francs for reliable information. But we
must hear to-day, or to-morrow at latest."
As he evolved this proposal, Nevill and Stephen kept their eyes upon the
man's fat face. He looked politely interested, but not excited, though
the offer of a thousand francs was large enough to rouse his cupidity,
it would seem, if he saw his way to earning it.
He shrugged his shoulders with a discouraged air when Nevill finished.
"I can tell you now, Monsieur, all that I know of Mademoiselle's
movements--all that anybody in the hotel knows, I think. No one came to
see her, except yourselves. She was out all the morning of yesterday,
and did not return here till sometime after the _déjeuner_. After that,
she remained in her room until towards evening. It was the head-waiter
who brought me the message of which I have told you, and requested the
bill. At what hour the young lady actually went out, I do not know. The
porter can probably tell you."
"But her luggage," Stephen cut in quickly. "Where did it go? You can at
least tell that?"
"Mademoiselle's luggage is still in the hotel. She asked permission to
store it, all but a dressing-bag of some sort, which, I believe she
carried with her."
"In a cab?"
"That I do not know. It will be another question for the porter. But
were I in the place of Monsieur and his friend, I should have no
uneasiness about the young lady. She is certain to have found
trustworthy acquaintances, for she appeared to be very sensible."
"We shall be glad if you will let us have a short talk with several of
your servants," said Nevill--"the _femme de chambre_ who took care of
Miss Ray's room, and the waiter who served her, as well as the porter."
"Certainly, Monsieur. They shall be brought here," the landlord
assented. "I will help you by questioning them myself."
"I think we'll do that without your help, thank you," replied Stephen
drily.
The fat man looked slightly less agreeable, but touched a bell in the
wall by his desk. A boy answered and was sent to command Angéle and
Ahmed to report at once. Also he was to summon the porter, whether that
man had finished his breakfast or not. These orders given, Monsieur
Constant looked at the two Englishmen as if to say, "You see! I put my
whole staff at your disposition. Does not this prove my good faith? What
would you have more?"
Angéle was Algerian French, evidently of mixed parentage, like all those
in the Hotel de la Kasbah who were not Arabs. She was middle-aged, with
a weary, hatchet face, and eyes from which looked a crushed spirit. If
Stephen and Nevill could have seen Madame Constant, they would hardly
have wondered at that expression.
Ahmed had negro blood in his veins, and tried to smooth out the
frizziness of the thick black hair under his fez, with much pomatum,
which smelled of cheap bergamot.
These two, with the porter who soon appeared, brushing breadcrumbs from
his jacket, stood in front of the bureau window, waiting to learn the
purpose for which they had been torn from their various occupations. "It
is these gentlemen who have something to ask you. They do not wish me to
interfere," announced the master to his servants, with a gesture. He
then turned ostentatiously to the sipping of his neglected coffee.
Nevill undertook the cross-questionings, with occasional help from
Stephen, but they learned no detail of importance. Angéle said that she
had been out when the demoiselle Americaine had left the hotel; but that
the luggage of Mademoiselle was still in her room. Ahmed had taken a
message to Monsieur le Patron, about the bill, and had brought back
Mademoiselle's change, when the note was paid. The porter had carried
down a large dressing-bag, at what time he could not be sure, but it was
long before dark. He had asked if Mademoiselle wished him to call a
_voiture_, but she had said no. She was going out on foot, and would
presently return in a carriage. This she did. The porter believed it was
an ordinary cab in which Mademoiselle had driven back, but he had not
thought much about it, being in a hurry as he took the bag. He was at
least certain that Mademoiselle had been alone. She had received no
callers while she was in the hotel, and had not been seen speaking to
any one: but she had gone out a great deal. Why had he not mentioned in
the evening that the young lady had driven away with luggage? For the
sufficient reason that Mademoiselle had particularly requested him to
say nothing of her movements, should any one come to inquire. It was for
the same reason that he had been obliged to deceive Monsieur in the
matter of knocking at her door. And as the porter made this answer, he
looked far more impudent than he had looked last night, though he was
smiling blandly.
How much of this was lies and how much truth? Stephen wondered, when,
having given up hope of learning more from landlord or servants, they
left the hotel.
Nevill had to confess that he was puzzled. "Their stories hold together
well enough," he said, "but if they have anything to hide (mind, I don't
say they have) they're the sort to get up their tale beforehand, so as
to make it water-tight. We called last night, and that man Constant must
have known we'd come again, whether we heard from Miss Ray or whether we
didn't--still more, if we _didn't_. Easy as falling off a log to put the
servants up to what he wanted them to say, and prepare them for
questions, without giving them tips under our noses."
"If they know anything that fat old swine doesn't want them to give
away, we can bribe it out of them," said Stephen, savagely. "Surely
these Arabs and half-breeds love money."
"Yes, but there's something else they hold higher, most of them, I will
say in their favour--loyalty to their own people. If this affair has to
do with Arabs, like as not we might offer all we've got without inducing
them to speak--except to tell plausible lies and send us farther along
the wrong track. It's a point of pride with these brown faces. Their own
above the Roumis, and I'm hanged if I can help respecting them for that,
lies and all."
"But why should they lie?" broke out Stephen. "What can it be to them?"
"Nothing, in all probability," Nevill tried to soothe him. "The chances
are, they've told us everything they know, in good faith, and that
they're just as much in the dark about Miss Ray's movements as we
are--without the clue we have, knowing as we do why she came to Algiers.
It's mysterious enough anyhow, what's become of her; but it's more
likely than not that she kept her own secret. You say she admitted in
her letter having heard something which she didn't mention to us when
she was at my house; so she must have got a clue, or what she thought
was a clue, between the time when we took her from the boat to the Hotel
de la Kasbah, and the time when she came to us for lunch."
"It's simply hideous!" Stephen exclaimed. "The only way I can see now is
to call in the police. They must find out where that cab came from and
where it took Miss Ray. That's the important thing."
"Yes, to get hold of the cabman is the principal thing," said Nevill,
without any ring of confidence in his voice. "But till we learn the
contrary, we may as well presume she's safe. As for the police, for her
sake they must be a last resort."
"Let's go at once and interview somebody. But there's one hope. She may
have gone to Tlemcen to see that Kabyle maid of Mademoiselle Soubise,
for herself. Perhaps that's why she didn't encourage us to motor there.
She's jolly independent."
Nevill's face brightened. "When we've done what we can in Algiers, we
might run there ourselves in the car, just as I proposed before," he
said eagerly. "If nothing came of it, we wouldn't be wasting time, you
know. She warned you not to expect news for a fortnight, so there's no
use hanging about here in hopes of a letter or telegram. We can go to
Tlemcen and get back inside five days. What do you say?"
What Stephen might have said was, that they could save the journey by
telegraphing to Mademoiselle Soubise to ask whether Miss Ray had arrived
in Tlemcen. But the brightness in Nevill's eyes and the hopefulness in
his voice kept back the prosaic suggestion.
"I say, by all means let's go to Tlemcen," he answered. "To-morrow,
after we've found out what we can here about the cab, inquired at the
railway stations and so on. Besides, we can at least apply to the police
for information about Ben Halim. If we learn he's alive, and where he is
living, it may be almost the same as knowing where Miss Ray has gone."