Part 14 (2/2)

As they pa.s.sed together under the shadow of the Marsa gate, Aylmer nodded and the next moment pa.s.sed alone into the crowd. A side alley had swallowed Daoud as if by magic.

Aylmer joined the main stream of traffic which breasted up past the Mosque and the little Sok towards the Gate of the Great Market, and so, past the hovels of the desert vagrants which cl.u.s.ter round the walls, to the Marshan and the European quarter outside the town.

A little apart from the cl.u.s.ter of Legations stood the Villa Eulalia, encircled with its tiny park. This, in its turn, was bounded by a high wall of plaster or dried mud. The entrance led under an archway by a porter's lodge.

A Moor in a spotless bournous appeared and made a grave gesture of obeisance as the visitor stood in the shadow of the porch.

Aylmer presented his card.

The man inspected it and pulled a cord. Some way off, inside the house, came the clang of a bell. Another man emerged, took the card which the porter handed him, and disappeared. All this time Aylmer still stood outside the gate.

Perhaps a certain irritation showed on his face, for the porter made a gesture of deprecation.

”If the Sidi would sit--?” He submitted courteously, indicating his own chair. ”I do not know the Sidi,” he added, with another tiny shrug, ”or else--” His voice died away. He let it be inferred that circ.u.mstances, not his own desire, stood between the visitor and instant welcome.

Aylmer smiled.

”Strangers do not have the entree?” he asked, as he seated himself.

The man bowed a grave affirmative.

”These are my orders, Sidi,” he answered. ”But if the Sidi comes again he will find that I have a good memory. I do not forget a face.”

Aylmer nodded. ”I hope to prove it, my friend,” he said quietly, and then sat silent, reviewing his surroundings.

There is probably no more beautifully situated dwelling in Africa than this wide one-storied house upon the knoll which dominates the Marshan with Tangier at its feet. Beyond the cl.u.s.tered houses of the town lies the blue of the bay. Beyond that again the gray vagueness of Gibraltar, Cadiz, and the cork woods of Spain. On clear days, high, white, and mystical looms, above all, the snow of the Sierra.

Far to the east stands the ring of mountains which encircles Tetuan, and this, for many months of the year, has its own crown of white. Away to the west is the infinite emptiness of the Atlantic beyond Spartel, while southward, a barrier between the sea and the desert wastes, Sheshouan rears up its mighty crest. To whichever quarter the eye turns there is loveliness--loveliness both of color and of line. And the lucent clearness of the atmosphere emphasizes both. Sometimes the mist floats in and covers the seascape with a cloud of mystery, but it is seldom, save in the short time of the rains, that the landward view is anything but sun-swathed. And the sands which stretch between the river and the town walls seem to suck in his rays and render them back from their yellow richness when his face is obscured.

What nature has done for the distant views artifice has graven upon the immediate surroundings. Pipes laid down to the little River of the Jews, which babbles below the knoll, bring up water to irrigate the lawns which surround the verandahs. Nowhere in Tangier is there such a carpet of living green. The creepers climb the verandah posts and trail unrestrained upon the roof. Great white, red, and yellow flowers swing from pole to pole as the sea breeze freshens; trailing tendrils of vine and clematis nod through the open windows and mingle with the cords of the string curtains. And the plash of water adds to the sense of leisure and repose. A little fountain plays ceaselessly from the summit of a ma.s.sed pyramid of rocks and rambles down into the gra.s.s between cl.u.s.tered ferns. In ma.s.ses of six and seven the date palms fling shade from trunk to trunk.

Peace was the pervading element, Aylmer told himself, as he looked down the shady alleys and listened to the voice of the fountain, and yet peace, as facts went, was further from this abode than from the clangors of the market-place in the faction-riven town at their feet. This was no house of pleasure; it was a fortress, with the enemy ever at the gate.

The precautions of his own entrance were sign enough, but other things bore witness. A score of gardeners was not necessary to tend the two acres of pleasaunce, elaborately planned and kept though they were.

There was no entrance save the one; two others had been solidly walled in. Bars were on the windows; ma.s.sive bolts upon the inner wooden gate beyond the iron one.

Remembering to whom this debt of anxiety and watchfulness was due, Aylmer set his lips yet more grimly as he waited. Landon should pay to the uttermost, not only for the wrongs which he had heaped year by year upon his wife and her relations, but for the injury he had done to those of his own blood. Aylmer's eyes grew hard; his color rose angrily. He, John Aylmer, a reputable man, sat and waited admission to a house like a common mendicant, because Landon was a scoundrel. And beyond this, was there not more? Had he not had to endure a look of repulse, of loathing, from eyes--for the first time he confessed it, even to himself--which had become to him the very eyes of Fate. By G.o.d! Landon should pay bitterly for that!

A step upon the gravel scattered his reflections. He looked up. Mr. Van Arlen was coming towards him, his head bent to that courteous, suavely interested inclination which is a relic of the old school of politeness.

No man under sixty has had the time, or the inclination, to practise these old-time graces.

Aylmer rose, and held out his hand. Mr. Van Arlen, with profuse gesticulations, insisted on personally bringing forward a couple of low deck chairs into the shadow of the palms. He waved his visitor to take a seat.

Aylmer bowed, but preferred, he said, to stand. There was a significance in his tone which did not escape, was, indeed, not meant to escape, his companion. The old gentleman gave him a keen and somewhat disquieted look.

”But I cannot sit if you do not,” he protested. He gave the back of the chair a seductive little pat. ”Let me persuade you,” he pleaded anxiously.

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