XL

On the night of the Governor's ball, it was four weeks to the day since

Stephen Knight and Nevill Caird had inquired for Victoria Ray at the

Hotel de la Kasbah, and found her gone.

For rather more than a fortnight, they had searched for her quietly

without applying to the police; but when at the end of that time, no

letter had come, or news of any kind, the police were called into

consultation. Several supposed clues had been followed, and had led to

nothing; but Nevill persuaded Stephen to hope something from the ball.

If any caïds of the south knew that Roumis had a secret reason for

questioning them, they would pretend to know nothing, or give misleading

answers; but if they were drawn on to describe their own part of the

country, and the facilities for travelling through it, news of those who

had lately passed that way might be inadvertently given.

Stephen was no longer in doubt about his feelings for Victoria. He knew

that he had loved her ever since the day when she came to Nevill's

house, and they talked together in the lily garden. He knew that the one

thing worth living for was to find her; but he expected no happiness

from seeing her again, rather the contrary. Margot would soon be coming

back to England from Canada, and he planned to meet her, and keep all

his promises. Only, he must be sure first that Victoria Ray was safe. He

had made up his mind by this time that, if necessary, Margot would have

to wait for him. He would not leave Algeria until Victoria had been

found. It did not matter whether this decision were right or wrong, he

would stick to it. Then, he would atone by doing as well as he could by

Margot. She should have no cause of complaint against him in the future,

so far as his love for Victoria was concerned; but he did not mean to

try and kill it. Love for such a girl was too sacred to kill, even

though it meant unhappiness for him. Stephen meant to guard it always in

his heart, like a lamp to light him over the dark places; and there

would be many dark places he knew in a life lived with Margot.

Through many anxious days he looked forward to the Governor's ball,

pinning his faith to Nevill's predictions; but when the moment came, his

excitement fell like the wind at sunset. It did not seem possible that,

after weeks of suspense, he should have news now, or ever. He went with

Nevill to the summer palace, feeling dull and depressed. But perhaps the

depression was partly the effect of a letter from Margot Lorenzi in

Canada, received that morning. She said that she was longing to see him,

and "hurrying all she knew," to escape from her friends, and get back to

"dear London, and her darling White Knight."

"I'm an ass to expect anything from coming here," he thought, as he saw

the entrance gates of the palace park blazing with green lights in a

trellis of verdure. The drive and all the paths that wound through the

park were bordered with tiny lamps, and Chinese lanterns hung from the

trees. There was sure to be a crush, and it seemed absurd to hope that

even Nevill's cajoleries could draw serious information from Arab guests

in such a scene as this.

The two young men went into the palace, passing through a big veranda

where French officers were playing bridge, and on into a charming court,

where Turkish coffee was being served. Up from this court a staircase

led to the room where the Governor was receiving, and at each turn of

the stairs stood a Spahi in full dress uniform, with a long white haïck.

Nevill was going on ahead, meaning to introduce Stephen to the Governor

before beginning his search for acquaintances among the Arab chiefs who

grouped together over the coffee cups. But, turning to speak to Stephen,

who had been close behind at starting, he found that somehow they had

been swept apart. He stepped aside to wait for his friend, and let the

crowd troop past him up the wide staircase. Among the first to go by was

an extremely handsome Arab wearing a scarlet cloak heavy with gold

embroidery, thrown over a velvet coat so thickly encrusted with gold

that its pale-blue colour showed only here and there. He held his

turbaned head proudly, and, glancing at Caird as he passed, seemed not

to see him, but rather to see through him something more interesting

beyond.

Nevill still waited for his friend, but fully two minutes had gone

before Stephen appeared. "Did you see that fellow in the red cloak?" he

asked. "That was the Arab of the ship."

"Si Maïeddine----"

"Yes. Did you notice a queer brooch that held his cloak together? A

wheel-like thing, set with jewels?"

"No. He hadn't it on. His cloak was hanging open."

"By Jove! You're sure?"

"Certain. I saw the whole breast of his coat."

"That settles it, then. He did recognize me. Hang it, I wish he hadn't."

"I don't know what's in your mind exactly. But I suppose you'll tell

me."

"Rather. But no time now. We mustn't lose sight of him if we can help

it. I wanted to follow him up, on the instant, but didn't dare, for I

hoped he'd think I hadn't spotted him. He can't be sure, anyhow, for I

had the presence of mind not to stare. Let's go up now. He was on his

way to pay his respects to the Governor, I suppose. He can't have

slipped away yet."

"It would seem not," Nevill assented, thoughtfully.

But a few minutes later, it seemed that he had. And Nevill was not

surprised, for in the last nine years he had learned never to wonder at

the quick-witted diplomacy of Arabs. Si Maïeddine had made short work

of his compliments to the Governor, and had passed out of sight by the

time that Stephen Knight and Nevill Caird escaped from the line of

Europeans and gorgeous Arabs pressing towards their host. It was not

certain, however, that he had left the palace. His haste to get on might

be only a coincidence, Nevill pointed out. "Frenchified Arabs" like Si

Maïeddine, he said, were passionately fond of dancing with European

women, and very likely Maïeddine was anxious to secure a waltz with some

Frenchwomen of his acquaintance.

The two Englishmen went on as quickly as they could, without seeming to

hurry, and looked for Maïeddine in the gaily decorated ball-room where a

great number of Europeans and a few Arabs were dancing. Maïeddine would

have been easy to find there, for his high-held head in its white turban

must have towered above most other heads, even those of the tallest

French officers; but he was not to be seen, and Nevill guided Stephen

out of the ball-room into a great court decorated with palms and

banners, and jewelled with hundreds of coloured lights that turned the

fountain into a spouting rainbow.

Pretty women sat talking with officers in uniforms, and watching the

dancers as they strolled out arm in arm, to walk slowly round the

flower-decked fountain. Behind the chatting Europeans stood many Arab

chiefs of different degree, bach aghas, aghas, caïds and adels, looking

on silently, or talking together in low voices; and compared with these

stately, dark men in their magnificent costumes blazing with jewels and

medals, the smartest French officers were reduced to insignificance.

There were many handsome men, but Si Maïeddine was not among them.

"We've been told that he's _persona grata_ here," Nevill reminded

Stephen, "and there are lots of places where he may be in the palace,

that we can't get to. He's perhaps hob-nobbing with some pal, having a

private confab, and maybe he'll turn up at supper."

"He doesn't look like a man to care about food, I will say that for

him," answered Stephen. "He's taken the alarm, and sneaked off without

giving me time to track him. I'll bet anything that's the fact. Hiding

the brooch is a proof he saw me, I'm afraid. Smart of him! He thought my

friend would be somewhere about, and he'd better get rid of damaging

evidence."

"You haven't explained the brooch, yet."

"I forgot. It's one _she_ wore on the boat--and that day at your

house--Miss Ray, I mean. She told me about it; said it had been a

present from Ben Halim to her sister, who gave it to her."

"Sure you couldn't mistake it? There's a strong family likeness in Arab

jewellery."

"I'm sure. And even if I hadn't been at first, I should be now, from

that chap's whisking it off the instant he set eyes on me. His having it

proves a lot. As she wore the thing at your house, he must have got it

somehow after we saw her. Jove, Nevill, I'd like to choke him!"

"If you did, he couldn't tell what he knows."

"I'm going to find out somehow. Come along, no use wasting time here

now, trying to get vague information out of Arab chiefs. We can learn

more by seeing where this brute lives, than by catechizing a hundred

caïds."

"It's too late for him to get away from Algiers to-night by train,

anyhow," said Nevill. "Nothing goes anywhere in particular. And look

here, Legs, if he's really onto us, he won't have made himself scarce

without leaving some pal he can trust, to see what we're up to."

"There were two men close behind who might have been with him," Stephen

remembered aloud.

"Would you recognize them?"

"I--think so. One of the two, anyhow. Very dark, hook-nosed, middle-aged

chap, pitted with smallpox."

"Then you may be sure he's chosen the less noticeable one. No good our

trying to find Maïeddine himself, if he's left the palace; though I

hope, by putting our heads and Roslin's together, that among the three

of us we shall pick him up later. But if he's left somebody here to keep

an eye on us, our best course is to keep an eye on that somebody.

They'll have to communicate."

"You're right," Stephen admitted. "I'm vague about the face, but I'll

force myself to recognize it. That's the sort of thing Miss Ray would

do. She's got some quaint theory about controlling your subconscious

self. Now I'll take a leaf out of her book. By Jove--there's one of the

men now. Don't look yet. He doesn't seem to notice us, but who knows?

He's standing by the door, under a palm. Let's go back into the

ball-room, and see if he follows."

But to "see if he followed" was more easily said than done. The Arab, a

melancholy and grizzled but dignified caïd of the south, contrived to

lose himself in a crowd of returning dancers, and it was not until later

that the friends saw him in the ball-room, talking to a French officer

and having not at all the air of one who spied or followed. Whether he

remained because they remained was hard to say, for the scene was

amusing and many Arabs watched it; but he showed no sign of

restlessness, and it began to seem laughable to Nevill that, if he

waited for them, they would be forced to wait for him. Eventually they

made a pretence of eating supper. The caïd was at the buffet with an

Arab acquaintance. The Englishmen lingered so long, that in the end he

walked away; yet they were at his beck and call. They must go after him,

if he went before them, and it was irritating to see that, when he had

taken respectful leave of his host, the sad-faced caïd proceeded quietly

out of the palace as if he had nothing to conceal. Perhaps he had

nothing or else, suspecting the game, he was forcing the hand of the

enemy. Stephen and Nevill had to follow, if they would keep him in

sight; and though they walked as far behind as possible, passing out of

the brilliantly lighted park, they could not be sure that he did not

guess they were after him.

They had walked the short distance from Djenan el Djouad to the

Governor's summer palace; and now, outside the gates, the caïd turned to

the left, which was their way home also. This was lucky, because, if the

man were on the alert, and knew where Nevill lived, he would have no

reason to suppose they took this direction on his account.

But he had not gone a quarter of a mile when he stopped, and rang at a

gate in a high white wall.

"Djenan el Taleb," mumbled Nevill. "Perhaps Si Maïeddine's visiting

there--or else this old beggar is."

"Is it an Arab's house?" Stephen wanted to know.

"Was once--long ago as pirate days. Now a Frenchman owns it--Monsieur de

Mora--friend of the Governor's. Always puts up several chiefs at the

time of the ball."

The gate opened to let the caïd in and was shut again.

"Hurrah!--just thought of a plan," exclaimed Nevill. "I don't think De

Mora can have got home yet from the palace. I saw him having supper.

Suppose I dart back, flutter gracefully round him, babble 'tile talk' a

bit--he's a tile expert after my own heart--then casually ask what Arabs

he's got staying with him. If Maïeddine's in his house it can't be a

secret--incidentally I may find out where the fellow comes from and

where he's going."

"Good!" said Stephen. "I'll hang about in the shadow of some tree and

glue my eye to this gate. Is there any other way out?"

"There is; but not one a visitor would be likely to take, especially if

he didn't want to be seen. It opens into a street where a lot of people

might be standing to peer into the palace grounds and hear the music.

Now run along, Legs, and find a comfortable shadow. I'm off."

He was gone three-quarters of an hour, but nothing happened meanwhile.

Nobody went in at the gate, or came out, and the time dragged for

Stephen. He thought of a hundred dangers that might be threatening

Victoria, and it seemed that Caird would never come. But at last he saw

the boyish figure, hurrying along under the light of a street-lamp.

"Couldn't find De Mora at first--then had to work slowly up to the

subject," Nevill panted. "But it's all right. Maïeddine _is_ stopping

with him--leaves to-morrow or day after; supposed to have come from El

Aghouat, and to be going back there. But that isn't to say either

supposition's true."

"We must find out where he's going--have him watched," said Stephen.

"Yes. Only, the trouble is, if he's on to the game, it's just what he'll

expect. But I've been thinking how we may be able to bluff--make him

think it was his guilty conscience tricked him to imagine our interest

in his movements. You know I'm giving a dinner to-morrow night to a few

people?"

"Yes. Lady MacGregor told me."

"Well, a Mademoiselle Vizet, a niece of De Mora's, is coming, so that

gave me a chance to mention the dinner to her uncle. Maïeddine can

easily hear about it, if he chooses to inquire what's going on at my

house. And I said something else to De Mora, for the benefit of the same

gentleman. I hope you'll approve."

"Sure to. What was it?"

"That I was sorry my friend, Mr. Knight, had got news which would call

him away from Algiers before the dinner. I said you'd be going on board

the _Charles Quex_ to-morrow when she leaves for Marseilles."

"But Maïeddine can find out----"

"That's just what we want. He can find out that your ticket's taken, if

we do take it. He can see you go on board if he likes to watch or send a

spy. But he mustn't see you sneaking off again with the Arab porters who

carry luggage. If you think anything of the plan, you'll have to stand

the price of a berth, and let some luggage you can do without, go to

Marseilles. I'll see you off, and stop on board till the last minute.

You'll be in your cabin, putting on the clothes I wear sometimes when I

want some fun in the old town--striped wool burnous, hood over your

head, full white trousers--good 'props,' look a lot the worse for

wear--white stockings like my Kabyle servants have; and you can rub a

bit of brown grease-paint on your legs where the socks leave off. That's

what I do. Scheme sounds complicated; but so is an Arab's brain. You've

got to match it. What do you say?"

"I say 'done!'" Stephen answered.

"Thought you would. Some fellows'd think it too sensational; but you

can't be too sensational with Arabs, if you want to beat 'em. This ought

to put Maïeddine off the scent. If he's watching, and sees you--as he

thinks--steam calmly out of Algiers harbour, and if he knows I'm

entertaining people at my house, he won't see why he need go on

bothering himself with extra precautions."

"Right. But suppose he's off to-morrow morning--or even to-night."

"Then we needn't bother about the boat business. For we shall know if he

goes. Either you or I must now look up Roslin. Perhaps it had better be

I, because I can run into Djenan el Djouad first, and send my man

Saunders to watch De Mora's other gate, and make assurance doubly sure."

"You're a brick, Wings," said Stephen.