The events that followed, although startling, may be briefly related.
On arrival in London, I saw by the newspapers that a most profound
sensation had been caused throughout Algeria by Zoraida's escape. In
explaining the flight of the beautiful leader of the Ennitra, the
published dispatches hinted vaguely at the possibility of a "prominent
colonial official" being seriously compromised.
It was apparent that the secret was out!
Breathlessly I opened the papers each morning, and read eagerly of the
trial, condemnation, and eventually of the execution of Hadj Absalam and
Labakan. But a telegram contained in the _Standard_ on the very morning
that Zoraida and I were quietly married at St Paul's, Knightsbridge,
was the most sensational of all. It reported that on the previous
afternoon Monsieur de Largentiere, the Governor-General of Algeria, had
been found in his private room shot through the temple by his own hand!
A revolver was found beside him, and upon his writing-table there lay a
letter begging forgiveness of his wife, and--in the words of the
correspondent--"the communication contained a very extraordinary
statement," the truth of which was being investigated.
Its purport I easily guessed.
The reason which prompted him to take his life was made plain by Octave
Uzanne, who, two months later, called upon me and explained in
confidence how, on the day previous to the terrible _denouement_, he
sought an interview with the assassin of Jack Fothergill, asserting that
he intended to return to France, and that if he were arrested upon the
warrant still out against him, he should denounce him as the murderer.
Octave likewise told him of the existence of the victim's letter, by
which he meant to prove an _alibi_, and to which I had already referred.
This, combined with the revelation made by one of the boatmen he had
employed, that he was implicated in Zoraida's escape, apparently caused
him to take his life rather than face the terrible charges against him.
Six months afterwards, Octave and Madame de Largentiere were married in
Paris, where they still live, in a pretty house in the Avenue des
Champs-Elysees. Frequently they are our guests at our Kensington
flat;--although Madame Uzanne has never recognised me as the
Governor-General's visitor, and is still ignorant of the guilt of her
late husband, for she regards his suicide as having been committed
during a sudden fit of insanity, brought on by the heavy
responsibilities of his office.
As for the Treasure of Askia, the whole of it has been recovered and
sold by a syndicate formed in the City for that purpose. The jewels,
the major portion of which, of course, fell to my share, were found to
be of enormous value, their size astonishing the dealers, who, in many
cases, were at first inclined to reject them as spurious imitations. In
Amsterdam and Paris they created a great sensation, and sold for
fabulous sums, several of the gems having now been added to the regalia
of Queen Victoria and the Sultan of Turkey.
Zoraida, who is now beginning to chatter English fluently, no longer
looks askance at our insular manners. Though she has exchanged her
_serroual_ and zouave for a tailor-made gown, and her little
pearl-embroidered skull-cap for a milliner's _confection_ of feathers
and flowers, yet, happily, our civilisation does not civilise her to
feminine foibles. Still an Oriental, she views many of our customs with
a horror that oft-times causes me considerable amusement, but she is
never so happy as when at evening, in the fitful light thrown by my
study fire, she comes to gossip over the teacups in her native Arabic.
Seldom, however, she recalls the horrors of those bygone days when she
was Queen of the Sahara, and never without a shudder. She is supremely
content in her new world, and has left for ever the parched glaring
wilderness that once was her home.
In Society she has become popular, and her "at homes" are always
crowded. Sometimes, when visiting, she will sing an Arab song, and
entertain a small circle of her closest friends by giving them
selections of music upon Arab instruments. The intricacies of
piano-strumming she has never mastered. On every hand, indeed, my
graceful desert-bride receives boundless admiration. There are many
beautiful women in London, but it is agreed, I believe, that the
countenance of none is more perfect in its symmetry and more pleasing in
its expression than that of the Daughter of the Sun.
The Omen of the Camel's Hoof has not, after all, been finally fulfilled,
for we live an almost idyllic life of peaceful bliss. My wife's
diamonds, which are so often commented upon by the papers, are the same
that for a thousand years constituted the magnificence of the Great
White Diadem. The little wooden tablet, upon which is inscribed the key
to the extraordinary enigma, is preserved in my study; the Crescent of
Glorious Wonders, with its mystic geometrical device, is a conspicuous
object upon the wall, and over it, suspended by its original thongs of
camel's hide, there hangs the worn and battered Drum of Nar.
They formed my wife's dowry, and, besides demonstrating a remarkable
scientific fact, they have brought us sufficient of this world's riches
to secure us ease and luxury.
Truly, my lot has fallen in a fair place. At last, in the bright
sunshine of Zoraida's affection, the most perfect happiness is mine.
The End.