Part 1 (1/2)

The Pursuit.

by Frank (Frank Mackenzie) Savile.

CHAPTER I

THE LADY OF THE PIER

It was not the muleteer's shove, slight but significant though it was, which produced John Aylmer's shrug of irritation. His resentment was directed at himself. He realized that he had been guilty of a gaucherie.

For thirty seconds he had been standing halted in the main street of Tangier, a rock of obstruction to all the rabble traffic which pa.s.ses between the Bab al Marsa and the Bab al Sok, staring at--what?

At a pretty woman.

He reddened under his tan. The muleteer's shoulder had displaced him for purely practical reasons, for, indeed, almost benevolent ones, for the mules would have been capable of obtaining with their teeth what their guardian had obtained by mere weight of his body. But Aylmer felt that by accepted social standards a kick would not have been more than his due. Had he not been behaving like some cub of a c.o.c.kney clerk at an Earl's Court Exhibition? His lips moved. He was muttering excuses of himself to himself, and knew that they were valid, but that an onlooker would have had no clue to them.

For it was not her prettiness which had drawn his attention to the girl.

It took no second glance to a.s.sure him that she was no countrywoman of his, but an American. Her features had the clean regularity, her complexion the pale, unfurrowed smoothness which is kept intact on the western side of the Atlantic and there alone. The Moroccan sunlight was proving in a dozen places the mistake the shadows made when they dulled the gold of her hair to brown. Her eyes matched the waters of the unrippled bay.

Though he recognized these things, they had not, in the first place, attracted Aylmer's attention. American girls--pretty American girls--are no rarity in Tangier since Mr. Cook threw over Moghreb-al-Aksa the aegis of his protection. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances he would have looked, approved, and, without altering his stride, pa.s.sed on. But here was something which appealed to the inherited instincts of a gentleman. What was it?

Apprehension.

He felt no reasonable doubt on the subject. Among this girl's natural attributes, he told himself, were placidity, content, self-reliance. The first two were wanting. The third was strained. There was almost a sense of furtiveness in the glances which she turned to throw not only about but, occasionally, behind her. Frankly, she was afraid.

His interest fed upon observation. He glanced at her more narrowly, he observed her surroundings. He drew aside out of the mid-street traffic, and under pretence of lighting a cigarette, halted again in the shadow of an awning.

She was not alone. She held by the hand a small, alert-looking child--a boy, who watched the pa.s.sers-by with the happy, unconcentrated interest of childhood. His eyes reviewed his surroundings without any of the surprise of unaccustomedness; obviously the scene was not strange to him. He smiled at Jew and Moslem, Christian and Infidel, with a pleasant patronage which one or two itinerant pedlars and shop touts returned with obsequious affability. One man, indeed,--a bronzed, hawk-nosed specimen of the desert Arab clad in a ragged _djelab_ of brown,--laughed gaily, plucked a carnation from behind his ear, and flung it to his small admirer as he pa.s.sed.

The child gave a little cackle of delight as he picked it up. The girl looked down as he did so and frowned.

”Who was that, Selim?” she asked quickly, and Aylmer saw that the question was addressed to a stout, muscular Moor who was in attendance.

The man lifted his shoulders in deprecation and darted a suspicious glance towards the crowd which had already closed upon the _djelab_ of brown.

”Some desert dog,” he answered sullenly. ”But indeed Sidi Jan encourages all the rabble of the Sok to take these liberties. He smiles, and the jackals think they have license to smile back.”

The object of these reproaches thrust the carnation carelessly behind his own small ear.

”I have seen him before--once, twice, many times,” he explained. ”He laughs; he is not gray and dull like Selim. I would like to have him for my kava.s.s.”

”I drown in perspiration three s.h.i.+rts a day while I wait on thee,”

affirmed the fat man reproachfully. ”Is this thy grat.i.tude?”

”I do not wish to be waited on; I wish to be played with,” said the child. ”I should like to go to the sands where the Kaid's horses are galloped, and play with the brown man. We would paddle and I would throw the water over him. He has promised me this.”

The girl started and gave a convulsive little grip of the fingers which lay in hers.

”He has spoken to you?” she cried. ”When--where?”