<h2><SPAN name="X" id="X"></SPAN>X</h2>
<p>A white peacock, screaming in the garden under
Stephen's balcony, waked him early, and dreamily
his thoughts strayed towards the events planned for
the day.</p>
<p>They were to make a morning call on Mademoiselle Soubise
in her curiosity-shop, and ask about Ben Halim, the husband
of Saidee Ray. Victoria was coming to luncheon, for she had
accepted Lady MacGregor's invitation. Her note had been
brought in last night, while he and Nevill walked in the garden.
Afterwards Lady MacGregor had shown it to them both. The
girl wrote an interesting hand, full of individuality, and expressive
of decision. Perhaps on her arrival they might have something
to tell her.</p>
<p>This hope shot Stephen out of bed, though it was only seven,
and breakfast was not until nine. He had a cold bath in the
private bathroom, which was one of Nevill's modern improvements
in the old house, and by and by went for a walk, thinking
to have the gardens to himself. But Nevill was there, cutting
flowers and whistling tunefully. It was to him that the
jewelled white peacock had screamed a greeting.</p>
<p>"I like cutting the flowers myself," said he. "I don't think
they care to have others touch them, any more than a cow likes
to be milked by a stranger. Of course they feel the difference!
Why, they know when I praise them, and preen themselves.
They curl up when they're scolded, or not noticed, just as I do
when people aren't nice to me. Every day I send off a box
of my best roses to Tlemcen. <i>She</i> allows me to do that."</p>
<p>Lady MacGregor did not appear at breakfast, which was<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></SPAN></span>
served on a marble loggia; and by half-past nine Stephen and
Nevill were out in the wide, tree-shaded streets, where masses
of bougainvillæa and clematis boiled over high garden-walls of
old plaster, once white, now streaked with gold and rose, and
green moss and lichen. After the thunderstorm of the day
before, the white dust was laid, and the air was pure with a
curious sparkling quality.</p>
<p>They passed the museum in its garden, and turned a
corner.</p>
<p>"There's Mademoiselle Soubise's shop," said Nevill.</p>
<p>It was a low white building, and had evidently been a private
house at one time. The only change made had been in the
shape and size of the windows on the ground-floor; and these
were protected by green <i>persiennes</i>, fanned out like awnings,
although the house was shaded by magnolia trees. There was
no name over the open door, but the word "<i>Antiquités</i>" was
painted in large black letters on the house-wall.</p>
<p>Under the green blinds was a glitter of jewels displayed
among brocades and a tangle of old lace, or on embossed silver
trays; and walking in at the door, out of the shadowy dusk,
a blaze of colour leaped to the eyes. Not a soul was there,
unless some one hid and spied behind a carved and gilded
Tunisian bed or a marqueterie screen from Bagdad. Yet
there was a collection to tempt a thief, and apparently no precaution
taken against invaders.</p>
<p>Delicate rugs, soft as clouds and tinted like opals, were
heaped in piles on the tiled floor; rugs from Ispahan, rugs from
Mecca; old rugs from the sacred city of Kairouan, such as
are made no more there or anywhere. The walls were hung
with Tunisian silks and embroidered stuffs from the homes of
Jewish families, where they had served as screens for talismanic
words too sacred to be seen by common eyes; and there was
drapery of ancient banners, Tyrian-dyed, whose gold or silver
fringes had been stained with blood, in battle. From the ceiling
were suspended antique lamps, and chandeliers of rare<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></SPAN></span>
rock crystal, whose prisms gave out rose and violet sparks as
they caught the light.</p>
<p>On shelves and inlaid tables were beggars' bowls of strange
dark woods, carried across deserts by wandering mendicants of
centuries ago, the chains, which had hung from throats long
since crumbled into dust, adorned with lucky rings and fetishes
to preserve the wearer from evil spirits. There were other
bowls, of crystal pure as full-blown bubbles, bowls which would
ring at a tap like clear bells of silver. Some of these were
guiltless of ornament, some were graven with gold flowers, but
all seemed full of lights reflected from tilted, pearl-framed
mirrors, and from the swinging prisms of chandeliers.</p>
<p>Chafing-dishes of bronze at which vanished hands had been
warmed, stood beside chased brazen ewers made to pour rose-water
over henna-stained fingers, after Arab dinners, eaten
without knives or forks. In the depths of half-open drawers
glimmered precious stones, strangely cut pink diamonds, big
square turquoises and emeralds, strings of creamy pearls,
and hands of Fatma, a different jewel dangling from each
finger-tip.</p>
<p>The floor was encumbered, not only with rugs, but with heaps
of priceless tiles, Persian and Moorish, of the best periods
and patterns, taken from the walls of Arab palaces now
destroyed; huge brass salvers; silver anklets, and chain armour,
sabres captured from Crusaders, and old illuminated Korans.
It was difficult to move without knocking something down,
and one stepped delicately in narrow aisles, to avoid islands
of piled, precious objects. Everywhere the eye was drawn to
glittering points, or patches of splendid colour; so that at a
glance the large, dusky room was like a temple decorated
with mosaics. There was nothing that did not suggest the
East, city or desert, or mountain village of the Kabyles; and the
air was loaded with Eastern perfumes, ambergris and musk
that blended with each other, and the scent of the black incense
sticks brought by caravan from Tombouctou.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Why doesn't some one come in and steal?" asked Stephen,
in surprise at seeing the place deserted.</p>
<p>"Because there's hardly a thief in Algiers mean enough to
steal from Jeanne Soubise, who gives half she has to the poor.
And because, if there were one so mean, Haroun el Raschid
would soon let her know what was going on," said Nevill.
"His latest disguise is that of a parrot, but he may change it
for something else at any moment."</p>
<p>Then Stephen saw, suspended among the crystal chandeliers
and antique lamps, a brass cage, shaped like a domed palace.
In this cage, in a coral ring, sat a grey parrot who regarded
the two young men with jewel-eyes that seemed to know all
good and evil.</p>
<p>"He yells if any stranger comes into the shop when his mistress
is out," Nevill explained. "I am an humble friend of
His Majesty's, so he says nothing. I gave him to Mademoiselle
Jeanne."</p>
<p>Perhaps their voices had been heard. At all events, there
was a light tapping of heels on unseen stairs, and from behind
a red-curtained doorway appeared a tall young woman, dressed
in black.</p>
<p>She was robust as well as tall, and Stephen thought she looked
rather like a handsome Spanish boy; yet she was feminine
enough in her outlines. It was the frank and daring expression
of her face and great black eyes which gave the look of
boyishness. She had thick, straight eyebrows, a large mouth
that was beautiful when she smiled, to show perfect teeth
between the red lips that had a faint, shadowy line of down
above them.</p>
<p>"Ah, Monsieur Nevill Caird!" she exclaimed, in English,
with a full voice, and a French accent that was pretty,
though not Parisian. She smiled at Stephen, too, without
waiting to be introduced. "Monsieur Caird is always kind
in bringing his friends to me, and I am always glad to see
them."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"I've brought Mr. Knight, not to buy, but to ask a favour,"
said Nevill.</p>
<p>"To buy, too," Stephen hastened to cut in. "I see things
I can't live without. I must own them."</p>
<p>"Well, don't set your heart on anything Mademoiselle Soubise
won't sell. She bought everything with the idea of selling
it, she admits, but now she's got them here, there are some
things she can't make up her mind to part with at any price."</p>
<p>"Oh, only a few tiles—and some Jewish embroideries—and
bits of jewellery—and a rug or two or a piece of pottery—and
maybe <i>one</i> copy of the Koran, and a beggar's bowl,"
Jeanne Soubise excused herself, hastily adding more and
more to her list of exceptions, as her eyes roved wistfully among
her treasures. "Oh, and an amphora just dug up near Timgad,
with Roman oil still inside. It's a beauty. Will you
come down to the cellar to look at it?"</p>
<p>Nevill thanked her, and reserved the pleasure for another
time. Then he inquired what was the latest news from Mademoiselle
Josette at Tlemcen; and when he heard that there
was nothing new, he told the lady of the curiosity-shop what
was the object of the early visit.</p>
<p>"But of course I have heard of Ben Halim, and I have seen
him, too," she said; "only it was long ago—maybe ten years.
Yes, I could not have been seventeen. It is already long that
he went away from Algiers, no one knows where. Now he
is said to be dead. Have you not heard of him, Monsieur
Nevill? You must have. He lived at Djenan el Hadj; close
to the Jardin d'Essai. You know the place well. The new
rich Americans, Madame Jewett and her daughter, have it
now. There was a scandal about Ben Halim, and then he went
away—a scandal that was mysterious, because every one
talked about it, yet no one knew what had happened—never
surely at least."</p>
<p>"I told you Mademoiselle would be able to give you information!"
exclaimed Nevill. "I felt sure the name was familiar,<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></SPAN></span>
somehow, though I couldn't think how. One hears so many
Arab names, and generally there's a 'Ben' or a 'Bou' something
or other, if from the South."</p>
<p>"Flan-ben-Flan," laughed Jeanne Soubise. "That means,"
she explained, turning to Stephen, "So and So, son of So and
So. It is strange, a young lady came inquiring about Ben
Halim only yesterday afternoon; such a pretty young lady.
I was surprised, but she said they had told her in her hotel I
knew everything that had ever happened in Algiers. A nice
compliment to my age. I am not so old as that! But," she
added, with a frank smile, "all the hotels and guides expect
commissions when they send people to me. I suppose they
thought this pretty girl fair game, and that once in my place
she would buy. So she did. She bought a string of amber beads.
She liked the gold light in them, and said it seemed as if she
might see a vision of something or some one she wanted to
find, if she gazed through the beads. Many a good Mussulman
has said his prayers with them, if that could bring her
luck."</p>
<p>The two young men looked at one another.</p>
<p>"Did she tell you her name?" Stephen asked.</p>
<p>"But yes; she was Mees Ray, and named for the dead
Queen Victoria of England, I suppose, though American.
And she told me other things. Her sister, she said, married
a Captain Ben Halim of the Spahis, and came with him to
Algiers, nearly ten years ago. Now she is looking for the
sister."</p>
<p>"We've met Miss Ray," said Nevill. "It's on her business
we've come. We didn't know she'd already been to you,
but we might have guessed some one would send her. She
didn't lose much time."</p>
<p>"She wouldn't," said Stephen. "She isn't that kind."</p>
<p>"I knew nothing of the sister," went on Mademoiselle
Soubise. "I could hardly believe at first that Ben Halim
had an American wife. Then I remembered how these<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></SPAN></span>
Mohammedan men can hide their women, so no one ever
knows. Probably no one ever did know, otherwise gossip
would have leaked out. The man may have been jealous of
her. You see, I have Arab acquaintances. I go to visit
ladies in the harems sometimes, and I hear stories when anything
exciting is talked of. You can't think how word flies
from one harem to another—like a carrier-pigeon! This
could never have been a matter of gossip—though it is true
I was young at the time."</p>
<p>"You think, then, he would have shut her up?" asked
Nevill. "That's what I feared."</p>
<p>"But of course he would have shut her up—with another
wife, perhaps."</p>
<p>"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Stephen. "The poor child
has never thought of that possibility. She says he promised
her sister he would never look at any other woman."</p>
<p>"Ah, the promise of an Arab in love! Perhaps she did
not know the Arabs—that sister. It is only the men of
princely families who take but one wife. And he would not
tell her if he had already looked at another woman. He
would be sure, no matter how much in love a Christian girl
might be, she would not marry a man who already had a
wife."</p>
<p>"We might find out that," suggested Stephen.</p>
<p>"It would be difficult," said the Frenchwoman. "I can
try, among Arabs I know, but though they like to chat with
Europeans, they will not answer questions. They resent that
we should ask them, though they are polite. As for you, if
you ask men, French or Arab, you will learn nothing. The
French would not know. The Arabs, if they did, would not
tell. They must not talk of each other's wives, even among
themselves, much less to outsiders. You can ask an Arab
about anything else in the world, but not his wife. That is
the last insult."</p>
<p>"What a country!" Stephen ejaculated.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"I don't know that it has many more faults than others,"
said Nevill, defending it, "only they're different."</p>
<p>"But about the scandal that drove Ben Halim away?"
Stephen ventured on.</p>
<p>"Strange things were whispered at the time, I remember,
because Ben Halim was a handsome man and well known.
One looked twice at him in his uniform when he went by on
a splendid horse. I believe he had been to Paris before the
scandal. What he did afterwards no one can say. But I
could not tell Mees Ray what I had heard of that scandal
any more than I would tell a young girl that almost all Europeans
who become harem women are converted to the religion
of Islam, and that very likely the sister wasn't Ben Halim's
first wife."</p>
<p>"Can you tell us of the scandal, or—would you rather not
talk of the subject?" Stephen hesitated.</p>
<p>"Oh, I can tell you, for it would not hurt your feelings.
People said Ben Halim flirted too much with his Colonel's
beautiful French wife, who died soon afterwards, and her
husband killed himself. Ben Halim had not been considered
a good officer before. He was too fond of pleasure, and a mad
gambler; so at last it was made known to him he had better
leave the army of his own accord if he did not wish to go against
his will; at least, that was the story."</p>
<p>"Of course!" exclaimed Nevill. "It comes back to me now,
though it all happened before I lived in Algiers. Ben Halim
sold his house and everything in it to a Frenchman who went
bankrupt soon after. It's passed through several hands since.
I go occasionally to call on Mrs. Jewett and her daughter."</p>
<p>"It is said they wish you would call oftener, Monsieur
Caird."</p>
<p>Nevill turned red. Stephen thought he could understand,
and hid a smile. No doubt Nevill was a great "catch" in
Algerian society. And he was in love with a teacher of Arab
children far away in Tlemcen, a girl "poor as a church mouse,"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></SPAN></span>
who wouldn't listen to him! It was a quaint world; as quaint
in Africa as elsewhere.</p>
<p>"What did you tell Miss Ray?" Nevill hurried to ask.</p>
<p>"That Ben Halim had left Algiers nine years ago, and had
never been heard of since. When I saw she did not love his
memory, I told her people believed him to be dead; and this
rumour might be true, as no news of him has ever come back.
But she turned pale, and I was sorry I had been so frank.
Yet what would you? Oh, and I thought of one more thing,
when she had gone, which I might have mentioned. But
perhaps there is nothing in it. All the rest of the day I was
busy with many customers, so I was tired at night, otherwise
I would have sent a note to her hotel. And this morning
since six I have been hurrying to get off boxes and things
ordered by some Americans for a ship which sails at noon.
But you will tell the young lady when you see her, and that
will be better than my writing, because sending a note would
make it seem too important. She might build hopes, and it
would be a pity if they did explode."</p>
<p>Both men laughed a little at this ending of the Frenchwoman's
sentence, but Stephen was more impatient than
Nevill to know what was to come next. He grudged the
pause, and made her go on.</p>
<p>"It is only that I remember my sister telling me, when she
was at home last year for a holiday, about a Kabyle servant
girl who waits on her in Tlemcen. The girl is of a great
intelligence, and my sister takes an interest in her. Josette
teaches her many things, and they talk. Mouni—that is the
Kabyle's name—tells of her home life to my sister. One
thing she did was to serve a beautiful foreign lady in the house
of a rich Arab. She was only a child then, not more than
thirteen, for such girls grow up early; but she has always
thought about that lady, who was good to her, and very sad.
Mouni told Josette she had never seen any one so beautiful, and
that her mistress had hair of a natural colour, redder than hair<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></SPAN></span>
dyed with henna and powdered with gold dust. It was this
describing of the hair which brought the story back to my head
when Miss Ray had gone, because she has hair like that, and
perhaps her sister had it too."</p>
<p>"By Jove, we'll run over to Tlemcen in the car, and see
that Kabyle girl," Nevill eagerly proposed, carefully looking
at his friend, and not at Jeanne Soubise. But she raised her
eyebrows, then drew them together, and her frank manner
changed. With that shadow of a frown, and smileless eyes and
lips, there was something rather formidable about the handsome
young woman.</p>
<p>"Mees Ray may like to manage all her own beesiness,"
she remarked. And it occurred to Stephen that it would be a
propitious moment to choose such curios as he wished to buy.
In a few moments Mademoiselle Soubise was her pleasant
self again, indicating the best points of the things he admired,
and giving him their history.</p>
<p>"There's apparently a conspiracy of silence to keep us from
finding out anything about Miss Ray's sister as Ben Halim's
wife," he said to Nevill when they had left the curiosity-shop.
"Also, what has become of Ben Halim."</p>
<p>"You'll learn that there's always a conspiracy of silence in
Africa, where Arabs are concerned," Nevill answered. There
was a far-off, fatal look in his eyes as he spoke, those blue eyes
which seemed at all times to see something that others could
not see. And again the sense of an intangible, illusive, yet
very real mystery of the East, which he had felt for a moment
before landing, oppressed Stephen, as if he had inhaled too
much smoke from the black incense of Tombouctou.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></SPAN></span></p>
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