RATTIER LOSES HIS CALM
Major D'Hubert, Provost Marshal of the French forces occupying
Casablanca, grinned widely.
"So you suffered him to escape?" he said.
Commandant Rattier drummed fiercely on the office table.
"Suffered?" he roared. "I entertained him--the _escroc_! I nourished
him; I sent him ashore!"
The soldier smiled and looked at Rattier's companion--Aylmer.
"What open-hearted ingenuousness!" he chuckled. "You and I now, my
Captain! When one has been officer of the day a few thousand times, or
sat upon a few hundred courts-martial, or acted as _maitre de logis_,
one learns to sift a story then. And this one had its weak points, even
for a sailor. Would any one not mentally deranged hire a lateen to take
him aboard his own yacht? No, I should have required something better
imagined than that--I."
Aylmer shrugged his shoulders.
"The man can make himself of an engaging personality, Major. Our friend
acted according to the impulses of his generous soul. But the point is
that our man is hidden in the town. We come to you for expert knowledge.
Who would be likely to shelter him, and where? You will pardon our
insistence and intrusion, but our need is very pressing. It is the
child who is our concern, the child."
D'Hubert made a gesture of assent.
"Apart from my sincere affection for our simpleminded commandant,
Monsieur, your tale is good enough for any honest man and a father of
babes like myself. But this town of Casablanca is, in effect, a
haystack. Your quarry has the best of chances to act the needle."
He opened a door into an outer office and shouted a name.
"Sergeant Perinaud!"
A body filled the doorway and entered, bending the last few inches of
its stature. The sergeant saluted and unfolded himself, his eyes
reviewing the company with affable respect about two metres above the
floor.
"Visit the guardroom at each gate, see the lieutenants of the Spanish
police and bring me back a list of parties which have left the town
since morning. This is a matter of haste."
The sergeant saluted again and then hesitated.
"Is it permitted first to speak?" he asked.
The major nodded jerkily.
"It is, by chance, the movements of two men and a woman which are in
question?" speculated Perinaud.
Major d'Hubert opened his lips, shut them tight, meditated a moment, and
then spoke. He turned and looked at his visitors.
"The child? Is it of a stature to be disguised as a woman?" he asked.
The sergeant interrupted with an apologetic gesture.
"The figure of the woman I suggest was not seen by me. She travelled in
an _arba_. My attention was drawn to the party thus. Two hours ago a
band of the Beni M'Geel, Berbers, left by the eastern gate as for Ber
Rechid. They had with them two Arabs and a woman under the canopy of
which I spoke. Arab and Berber, especially if the latter are of the Beni
M'Geel, do not usually travel together."
"You observed the men?"
"Not narrowly, my Major. One was of a smiling countenance, hook-nosed,
and clad in a _djelab_ of brown. He walked beside the _arba_ and his
talk, as I judged it, was to the woman, who, however, made no reply. The
other had the hood of his _haik_ pulled far over his face. I did not see
it."
The major sat down at his desk, wrote a few lines swiftly, dashed sand
upon the ink, and handed the completed note to his underling.
"Let that be taken to General d'Amade without delay. Search may at the
same time be made in the town for an Englishman, his child, and a Moor
attendant who landed from a launch of the _Diomede_ some three hours
back. The messenger may await the general's answer and bring it to me
here."
As the giant saluted for the third time and diminished himself into the
doorway, Major d'Hubert confronted his friends with a pessimistic shake
of the head.
"My instinct is that Perinaud has already put his finger on the mystery.
Your milord must be a man of resource. To have engaged the services of
some of these wolves of Beni M'Geel within an hour of landing in a
strange town shows more than talent. It amounts to genius."
"This servant of his, Muhammed, is no stranger to the port," said
Aylmer. "We learned that before we left Tangier. He is a well-known gun
runner, and stands high in his profession. He has made these
arrangements."
Commandant Rattier flung aside his taciturnity with a suddenly impulsive
oath.
"Name of all little names!" he cried. "Do we sit and discuss this matter
as if it were a comedietta in which we take no more than the languid
interest of the dilettante! Are they not to be pursued--this past master
of perjury and his lieutenant? Are we to mount the town walls and wave
them affectionate farewells?"
D'Hubert arched his brows with protest.
"Pursuit? Certainly there is a question of pursuit, if it is allowed. I
have just sent a _precis_ of your story to the commander-in-chief with a
request for his leave to send a patrol. In a very few minutes we shall
learn whether or no we have his permission."
"Permission!" Rattier roared the word in the major's face. "I, Paul
Rattier, do you see, have been made the laughing-stock of the fleet and,
in time, no doubt, of half Europe! Am I to wait your general's
permission to chase this scoundrel to Timbuctoo, if I so wish? I am the
senior officer of marine here. I give myself leave, understand me--I!"
"And these amiable Berbers?" asked the major, sarcastically. "Supposing
they turn upon you and demand your reasons, and estimate your powers?
Suppose, to be blunt, my friend, they put a bullet through your brains?"
"Would that be any worse than wearing this hat of ridicule which this
Baron de Landon has put upon my head? No Moor or Touareg or Berber shall
stand between me and the object of my just retaliation, if I confront
him!"
A small bell tinkled in a corner. D'Hubert made a gesture of apology as
he went towards a cabinet screened from the general office. He came back
grinning.
"My Paul," he chuckled, "there will be shortly an insuperable barrier
between you and your desire. In another hour you will not be the senior
officer of marine at Casablanca. I learn by wireless that the
_Barfleur_, with the admiral on board, enters the roads within the
hour."
Rattier stood for an instant motionless. Then he turned and darted for
the door.
Before his fingers reached the handle Aylmer's grip was on his shoulder.
With a passionate gesture of repulse the commandant shook him off.
"I am not one to await admirals!" he roared. "I go to make arrangements.
Within half an hour I leave the town--I. If I have to walk I will follow
these Berber scoundrels, yes, if I have to crawl upon my knees!"
As the two wrestled and argued on the threshold, the door opened from
the outside. The massive proportions of the sergeant towered over them
in respectful amazement. He saluted and deferentially edged a way for
himself towards D'Hubert.
"The general was in the act of passing, my Major," he explained. "He
read your note and wrote his answer on the back in five words--he was
amiable enough to inform me."
The major untwisted the little roll of soiled paper and as he inspected
it a smile creased his cheek. He chuckled.
"A half troop of Goumiers!" he read. He looked at the frowning face of
the commandant.
"No need to go alone, my Paul. There is your escort." He hesitated a
moment, debating. "Do either of you, by chance, speak Arabic?"
"Am I an interpreter?" asked Rattier, bitterly. "Does one need a grammar
and dictionary to arrest half a dozen scoundrels who are perfectly well
aware why they are being chased, and whom one will take the liberty of
shooting if they resist capture? For that plain English or French--or,
for all practical purposes, Chinese--will suffice. Avoid alarming
yourself on that subject, _mon ami_."
The major grinned.
"I was not thinking of your quarry but your colleagues, my pigeon. The
Goumiers speak their own _argot_. They are good-hearted children, but
apt to be tempestuous in matters of fighting." He meditated through
another minute before he spoke with quick decision. "Sergeant! Prepare
to accompany M. le Commandant within fifteen minutes."
Perinaud saluted with entire imperturbability.
"And my instructions, my Major?" he asked.
"To return with the prisoners which Commandant Rattier will indicate to
you, or, failing their capture, within twenty-four hours."
"_Bien!_" Perinaud folded himself anaconda-like into the back office and
disappeared. Ten minutes later, a period which D'Hubert filled with much
voluble advice, there was the tramping of many horses' feet without.
Aylmer and Rattier strolled out into the open at the major's heels.
Under the command of one of their own native officers, forty horsemen of
the famous Algerian yeomanry had reined up in the dusty street. They sat
in their high peaked saddles, watching keenly the faces of D'Hubert and
his companions. Aylmer noted the eager, alert expectation which filled
each flashing brown eye. The Goumier, though he has proved his valor in
more than one pitched battle against the men of his own blood, is not a
man of war as we understand it. Manoeuvring, tactics, the orderliness
of drill and discipline are not inherent in his nature. But the raid,
the foray, the looting expedition are to him the apex and apogee of
human bliss. Thin, modest of stomach and worldly possessions, he passes
over the quickly reached horizon of the desert and is forgotten of the
well-drilled colleagues he leaves behind. But see his return! Swelling
with good victuals, jingling with caparison of desert wealth, with
chicken and kid pendent from his saddle-bow, who more popular than he?
The savory incense of his mess attracts all nostrils; his lavishly
scattered loot widens the already capacious circle of his friends.
Winning it, or wasting it when won, loot is the pivot on which his
reckless, joyous, heedless existence swings.
Rising from the rear as a cathedral tower rises above the encircling
dwellings at its base, Perinaud's head and shoulders topped the ranks.
His amiable smile, this time, had about it something of more than
ordinary deference. It was the near kin of a smirk, and his yellow
moustache was twisted fiercely upwards. Aylmer followed the direction of
his glance to find it focussed upon Claire Van Arlen.
Her eyes met his. She made him a little gesture, half of appeal, as it
seemed, half of command.
As he covered the few yards which separated them, he noted, with a queer
tightening of the heart, the deep shadows which had grown beneath her
eyes. But at the same time it was not all anxiety or weariness which
her face expressed. There was determination also. And this was reflected
in Mr. Van Arlen's glance. It dwelled upon Aylmer with expectancy and
more than expectancy,--with hope.
Without preamble he answered the question which their eyes had asked.
They heard him in silence to the end, and as he finished, the girl's
first comment was no more than a little sigh.
"The sergeant's surmise is right; my instinct tells me that," said
Aylmer. "A few hours--and I shall be putting the child in your arms
again."
She looked up at the double rank of horsemen. A sudden vivid flash of
feeling passed over her features. Her breath came with a little pant.
"Ah, if I could ride with you!" she said fiercely. "If I could do more
than wait!"
The color mounted to her cheeks, to her brow. A new note sounded in her
voice.
"If they show fight--these men? If, rather than lose the child, he"--her
voice sank unsteadily for a moment--"does him an injury? You would not
spare him?"
He smiled a little wearily.
"So you distrust me still?" he asked. "Why should I spare him? Because,
to my shame, we are of one blood?"
Mr. Van Arlen's thin hand rose in deprecation.
"We can leave this matter confidently in Captain Aylmer's hands," he
said. "We have only the one thing to think of--the child."
"No!" she cried vehemently. "I want the child, but I want more than
that. I want retribution. I want Landon in the dust. I want him made to
feel, as I feel. The child is much, but he is not all. Have you
forgotten the last eight years of my sister's life? Do you remember what
she has undergone and still has to undergo if the father of her son wins
this trick, as my heart tells me he will win it? I want vengeance. I
want every chance to grasp it seized. I should not hesitate, where his
kinsman might."
Aylmer nodded gravely.
"I understand," he said quietly. "Perhaps it is natural. But you keep
forgetting the one thing--that I work for my own reward. Even pity would
be a frail barrier between me and that."
Watching her keenly, he saw a quiver of repulsion tremble about her
lips, but it did not stay. She set them rather into grimness. She looked
at him keenly, debatingly, indeed, as if she weighed his words and
sought to set a value on them.
"Yes," she said, and there was a breathlessness in her tone as if she
slurred words which she did not dare to let herself hear. "I, too,
understand. And my father would consider no price too high for the
service which won back his grandchild, and removed the menace of
Landon's existence from our lives."
Van Arlen bowed unconsciously--his courteous, instinctive inclination of
assent.
"Such a service would be beyond price or reward," he said quietly. "We
could only do our best."
But there was a queerly puzzled look in his eyes as they wandered from
Aylmer to his daughter's face. He frowned a little, still unconsciously,
in the throes of an obvious bewilderment.
Aylmer looked at him once, swiftly, speculatively, and then turned
steadily towards Claire.
"And you?" he asked quietly.
She did not flinch; she did not even show, this time, any sign of
repulsion. The note in her voice now was exasperation, the nervous
defiance of one confronting an intolerable situation from which there
was no escape.
"I? I should think as my father thinks," she said coolly. She turned as
she spoke and looked impatiently at the line of waiting horsemen.
Aylmer nodded.
"Thank you," he said briskly. He made a sign towards Perinaud, who
jogged forward leading the spare horse whose bridle he had been holding.
Aylmer vaulted into the saddle, and reined in beside his friend Rattier,
who, using the pommel for a desk, was writing a few lines of instruction
to his lieutenant. A guttural order rumbled from the native officer's
lips.
The line of horsemen wheeled and deployed into lines of four. With a
jingle of accoutrements, they jogged off into the dust of the allies
towards the eastern gate.