VII
A first glance, at such close quarters, would have told the least instructed stranger that he was in the presence of two clashing civilizations, both tenacious, one powerful.
In front, all along the sh.o.r.e, towered with confident effrontery a ma.s.sive line of buildings many stories high, great cubes of brick and stone, having elaborate balconies that shadowed swarming offices with dark, gaping vaults below. Along the broad, stone-paved street clanged electric tramcars. There was a constant coming and going of men. Cloaked and hooded white forms, or half-clad apparitions wrapped in what looked like dirty bagging, mingled with commonplace figures in Western dress.
But huddled in elbow-high with this busy town of modern France (which might have been Ma.r.s.eilles or Bordeaux) was something alien, something remote in spirit; a ghostly band of white buildings, silent and pale in the midst of colour and noise. Low houses with flat roofs or miniature domes, small, secret doorways, tiny windows like eyes narrowed for spying, and overhanging upper stories supported on close-set, projecting sticks of mellow brown which meant great age. Minarets sprang up in mute protest against the infidel, appealing to the sky. All that was left of old Algiers tried to boast, in forced dumbness, of past glories, of every charm the beautiful, fierce city of pirates must have possessed before the French came to push it slowly but with deadly sureness back from the sea. Now, silent and proud in the tragedy of failure, it stood masked behind pretentious French houses, blocklike in ugliness, or flauntingly ornate as many buildings in the Rue de Rivoli or Boulevard Haussmann.
In those low-browed dwellings which thickly enamelled the hill with a mosaic of pink and pearly whiteness, all the way up to the old fortress castle, the Kasbah, the true life of African Algiers hid and whispered.
The modern French front along the fine street was but a gay veneer concealing realities, an incrusted civilization imposed upon one incredibly ancient, unspeakably different and ever unchanging.
Stephen remembered now that he had heard people decry Algiers, p.r.o.nouncing it spoiled and "completely Frenchified." But it occurred to him that in this very process of spoiling, an impression of tragic romance had been created which less "spoiled" towns might lack. Here were clashing contrasts which, even at a glance, made the strangest picture he had ever seen; and already he began to feel more and more keenly, though not yet to understand, something of the magic of the East. For this place, though not the East according to geographers, held all the spirit of the East--was in essence truly the East.
Before the ship lay fairly in harbour, brown men had climbed on board from little boats, demanding to be given charge of the pa.s.sengers" small luggage, which the stewards had brought on deck, and while one of these was arguing in bad French with Stephen, a tall, dark youth beautifully dressed in crimson and white, wearing a fez jauntily on one side, stepped up with a smile. "_Pardon, monsieur_," he ventured. "_Je suis le domestique de Monsieur Caird._" And then, in richly guttural accents, he offered the information that he was charged to look after monsieur"s baggage; that it was best to avoid _tous ces Arabes la_, and that Monsieur Caird impatiently awaited his friend on the wharf.
"But you--aren"t you Arab?" asked Stephen, who knew no subtle differences between those who wore the turban or fez. He saw that the good-looking, merry-faced boy was no browner than many a Frenchman of the south, and that his eyes were hazel; still, he did not know what he might be, if not Arab.
"_Je suis Kabyle, monsieur; Kabyle des hauts plateaux_," replied the youth with pride, and a look of contempt at the shouting porters, which was returned with interest. They darted glances of scorn at his gold-braided vest and jacket of crimson cloth, his light blue sash, and his enormously full white trousers, beneath which showed a strip of pale golden leg above the short white stockings, spurning the immaculate smartness of his livery, preferring, or pretending to prefer, their own soiled shabbiness and freedom. The Kabyle saw these glances, but, completely satisfied with himself, evidently attributed them to envy.
Stephen turned towards Victoria, of whom he had lost sight for a moment.
He wished to offer the Kabyle boy"s services, but already she had accepted those of a very old Arab who looked thin and ostentatiously pathetic. It was too late now. He saw by her face that she would refuse help, rather than hurt the man"s feelings. But she had told him the name of the hotel where she had telegraphed to engage a room, and Stephen meant at the instant of greeting his host, to ask if it were suitable for a young girl travelling alone.
He caught sight of Caird, looking up and waiting for him, before he was able to land. It was the face he remembered; boyish, with beautiful bright eyes, a wide forehead, and curly light hair. The expression was more mature, but the same quaintly angelic look was there, which had earned for Nevill the nickname of "Choir Boy" and "Wings."
"Hullo, Legs!" called out Caird, waving his Panama.
"Hullo, Wings!" shouted Stephen, and was suddenly tremendously glad to see the friend he had thought of seldom during the last eight or nine years. In another moment he was introducing Nevill to Miss Ray and hastily asking questions concerning her hotel, while a fantastic crowd surged round all three. Brown, skurrying men in torn bagging, the muscles of whose bare, hairless legs seemed carved in dark oak; shining black men whose faces were ebony under the ivory white of their turbans; pale, patient Kabyles of the plains bent under great sacks of flour which drained through ill-sewn seams and floated on the air in white smoke, making every one sneeze as the crowd swarmed past. Large grey mules roared, miniature donkeys brayed, and half-naked children laughed or howled, and darted under the heads of the horses, or fell against the bright bonnets of waiting motor cars. There were smart victorias, shabby cabs, hotel omnibuses, and huge carts; and, mingling with the floating dust of the spilt flour was a heavy perfume of spices, of incense perhaps blown from some far-off mosque, and ambergris mixed with grains of musk in amulets which the Arabs wore round their necks, heated by their sweating flesh as they worked or stalked about shouting guttural orders. There was a salt tang of seaweed, too, like an undertone, a foundation for all the other smells; and the air was warm with a hint of summer, a softness that was not enervating.
As soon as the first greeting and the introduction to Miss Ray were confusedly over, Caird cleverly extricated the newcomers from the thick of the throng, sheltering them between his large yellow motor car and a hotel omnibus waiting for pa.s.sengers and luggage.
"Now you"re safe," he said, in the young-sounding voice which pleasantly matched his whole personality. He was several years older than Stephen, but looked younger, for Stephen was nearly if not quite six feet in height, and Nevill Caird was less in stature by at least four inches. He was very slightly built, too, and his hair was as yellow as a child"s.
His face was clean-shaven, like Stephen"s, and though Stephen, living mostly in London, was brown as if tanned by the sun, Nevill, out of doors constantly and exposed to hot southern sunshine, had the complexion of a girl. Nevertheless, thought Victoria--sensitive and quick in forming impressions--he somehow contrived to look a thorough man, pa.s.sionate and ready to be violently in earnest, like one who would love or hate in a fiery way. "He would make a splendid martyr," the girl said to herself, giving him straight look for straight look, as he began advising her against her chosen hotel. "But I think he would want his best friends to come and look on while he burned. Mr. Knight would chase everybody away."
"Don"t go to any hotel," Nevill said. "Be my aunt"s guest. It"s a great deal more her house than mine. There"s lots of room in it--ever so much more than we want. Just now there"s no one staying with us, but often we have a dozen or so. Sometimes my aunt invites people. Sometimes I do: sometimes both together. Now I invite you, in her name. She"s quite a nice old lady. You"ll like her. And we"ve got all kinds of animals--everything, nearly, that will live in this climate, from tortoises of Carthage, to white mice from j.a.pan, and a baby panther from Grand Kabylia. But they keep themselves to themselves. I promise you the panther won"t try to sit on your lap. And you"ll be just in time to christen him. We"ve been looking for a name."
"I should love to christen the panther, and you are more than kind to say your aunt would like me to visit her; but I can"t possibly, thank you very much," answered Victoria in the old-fashioned, quaintly provincial way which somehow intensified the effect of her brilliant prettiness. "I have come to Algiers on--on business that"s very important to me. Mr. Knight will tell you all about it. I"ve asked him to tell, and he"s promised to beg for your help. When you know, you"ll see that it will be better for me not to be visiting anybody. I--I would rather be in a hotel, in spite of your great kindness."
That settled the matter. Nevill Caird had too much tact to insist, though he was far from being convinced. He said that his aunt, Lady MacGregor, would write Miss Ray a note asking her to lunch next day, and then they would have the panther-christening. Also by that time he would know, from his friend, how his help might best be given. But in any case he hoped that Miss Ray would allow his car to drop her at the Hotel de la Kasbah, which had no omnibus and therefore did not send to meet the boat. Her luggage might go up with the rest, and be left at the hotel.
These offers Victoria accepted gratefully; and as Caird put her into the fine yellow car, the handsome Arab who had been on the boat looked at her with chastened curiosity as he pa.s.sed. He must have seen that she was with the Englishman who had talked to her on board the _Charles Quex_, and that now there was another man, who seemed to be the owner of the large automobile. The Arab had a servant with him, who had travelled second cla.s.s on the boat, a man much darker than himself, plainly dressed, with a smaller turban bound by cheaper cord; but he was very clean, and as dignified as his master. Stephen scarcely noticed the two figures. The fine-looking Arab had ceased to be of importance since he had left the ship, and would see no more of Victoria Ray.
The chauffeur who drove Nevill"s car was an Algerian who looked as if he might have a dash of dark blood in his veins. Beside him sat the Kabyle servant, who, in his picturesque embroidered clothes, with his jaunty fez, appeared amusingly out of place in the smart automobile, which struck the last note of modernity. The chauffeur had a reckless, daring face, with the smile of a mischievous boy; but he steered with caution and skill through the crowded streets where open trams rushed by, filled to overflowing with white-veiled Arab women of the lower cla.s.ses, and French girls in large hats, who sat crushed together on the same seats.
Arabs walked in the middle of the street, and disdained to quicken their steps for motor cars and carriages. Tiny children with charming brown faces and eyes like wells of light, darted out from the pavement, almost in front of the motor, smiling and begging, absolutely, fearless and engagingly impudent. It was all intensely interesting to Stephen, who was, however, conscious enough of his past to be glad that he was able to take so keen an interest. He had the sensation of a man who has been partially paralyzed, and is delighted to find that he can feel a pinch.
The Hotel de la Kasbah, which Victoria frankly admitted she had chosen because of its low prices, was, as its name indicated, close to the mounting of the town, near the corner of a tortuous Arab street, narrow and shadowy despite its thick coat of whitewash. The house was kept by an extremely fat Algerian, married to a woman who called herself Spanish, but was more than half Moorish; and the proprietor himself being of mixed blood, all the servants except an Algerian maid or two, were Kabyles or Arabs. They were cheap and easy to manage, since master and mistress had no prejudices. Stephen did not like the look of the place, which might suit commercial travellers or parties of economical tourists who liked to rub shoulders with native life; but for a pretty young girl travelling alone, it seemed to him that, though it was clean enough, nothing could be less appropriate. Victoria had made up her mind and engaged her room, however; and so as no definite objection could be urged, he followed Caird"s example, and held his tongue. As they bade the girl good-bye in the tiled hall (a fearful combination of all that was worst in Arab and European taste) Nevill begged her to let them know if she were not comfortable. "You"re coming to lunch to-morrow at half-past one," he went on, "but if there"s anything meanwhile, call us up on the telephone. We can easily find you another hotel, or a pension, if you"re determined not to visit my aunt."
"If I need you, I promise that I will call," Victoria said. And though she answered Caird, she looked at Stephen Knight.
Then they left her; and Stephen became rather thoughtful. But he tried not to let Nevill see his preoccupation.
VIII
As they left the arcaded streets of commercial Algiers, and drove up the long hill towards Mustapha Superieur, where most of the best and finest houses are, Stephen and Nevill Caird talked of what they saw, and of Victoria Ray; not at all of Stephen himself. Nevill had asked him what sort of trip he had had, and not another question of any sort. Stephen was glad of this, and understood very well that it was not because his friend was indifferent. Had he been so, he would not have invited Stephen to make this visit.
To speak of the past they had shared, long ago, would naturally have led farther, and though Stephen was not sure that he mightn"t some day refer, of his own accord, to the distasteful subject of the Case and Margot Lorenzi, he could not have borne to mention either now.
As they pa.s.sed gateways leading to handsome houses, mostly in the Arab style, Nevill told him who lived in each one: French, English, and American families; people connected with the government, who remained in Algiers all the year round, or foreigners who came out every winter for love of their beautiful villa gardens and the climate.
"We"ve rather an amusing society here," he said. "And we"d defend Algiers and each other to any outsider, though our greatest pleasure is quarrelling among ourselves, or patching up one another"s rows and beginning again on our own account. It"s great fun and keeps us from stagnating. We also give quant.i.ties of luncheons and teas, and are sick of going to each other"s entertainments; yet we"re so furious if there"s anything we"re not invited to, we nearly get jaundice. I do myself--though I hate running about promiscuously; and I spend hours thinking up ingenious lies to squeeze out of accepting invitations I"d have been ill with rage not to get. And there are factions which loathe each other worse than any mere Montagus and Capulets. We have rival parties, and vie with one another in getting hold of any royalties or such like, that may be knocking about; but we who hate each other most, meet at the Governor"s Palace and smile sweetly if French people are looking; if not, we snort like war-horses--only in a whisper, for we"re invariably polite."
Stephen laughed, as he was meant to do. "What about the Arabs?" he asked, with Victoria"s errand in his mind. "Is there such a thing as Arab society?"
"Very little--of the kind we"d call "society"--in Algiers. In Tunis there"s more. Much of the old Arab aristocracy has died out here, or moved away; but there are a few left who are rich and well born. They have their palaces outside the town; but most of the best houses have been sold to Europeans, and their Arab owners have gone into the interior where the Roumis don"t rub elbows with them quite as offensively as in a big French town like this. Naturally they prefer the country. And I know a few of the great Arab Chiefs--splendid-looking fellows who turn up gorgeously dressed for the Governor"s ball every year, and condescend to dine with me once or twice while they"re staying on to amuse themselves in Algiers."
"Condescend!" Stephen repeated.
"By Jove, yes. I"m sure they think it"s a great condescension. And I"m not sure you won"t think so too, when you see them--as of course you will. You must go to the Governor"s ball with me, even if you can"t be bothered going anywhere else. It"s a magnificent spectacle. And I get on pretty well among the Arabs, as I"ve learned to speak their lingo a bit.
Not that I"ve worried. But nearly nine years is a long time."
This was Stephen"s chance to tell what he chose to tell of his brief acquaintance with Victoria Ray, and of the mission which had brought her to Algiers. Somehow, as he unfolded the story he had heard from the girl on board ship, the scent of orange blossoms, luscious-sweet in this region of gardens, connected itself in his mind with thoughts of the beautiful woman who had married Ca.s.sim ben Halim, and disappeared from the world she had known. He imagined her in an Arab garden where orange blossoms fell like snow, eating her heart out for the far country and friends she would never see again, rebelling against a monstrous tyranny which imprisoned her in this place of perfumes and high white walls. Or perhaps the scented petals were falling now upon her grave.
"Ca.s.sim ben Halim--Captain Ca.s.sim ben Halim," Nevill repeated. "Seems familiar somehow, as if I"d heard the name; but most of these Arab names have a kind of family likeness in our ears. Either he"s a person of no particular importance, or else he must have left Algiers before my Uncle James Caird died--the man who willed me his house, you know--brother of Aunt Caroline MacGregor who lives with me now. If I"ve ever heard anything about Ben Halim, whatever it is has slipped my mind. But I"ll do my best to find out something."
"Miss Ray believes he was of importance," said Stephen. "She oughtn"t to have much trouble getting on to his trail, should you think?"
Nevill looked doubtful. "Well, if he"d wanted her on his trail, she"d never have been off it. If he didn"t, and doesn"t, care to be got at, finding him mayn"t be as simple as it would be in Europe, where you can always resort to detectives if worst comes to worst."
"Can"t you here?" asked Stephen.
"Well, there"s the French police, of course, and the military in the south. But they don"t care to interfere with the private affairs of Arabs, if no crime"s been committed--and they wouldn"t do anything in such a case, I should think, in the way of looking up Ben Halim, though they"d tell anything they might happen to know already, I suppose--unless they thought best to keep silence with foreigners."
"There must be people in Algiers who"d remember seeing such a beautiful creature as Ben Halim"s wife, even if her husband whisked her away nine years ago," Stephen argued.
"I wonder?" murmured Caird, with an emphasis which struck his friend as odd.
"What do you mean?" asked Stephen.
"I mean, I wonder if any one in Algiers ever saw her at all? Ben Halim was in the French Army; but he was a Mussulman. Paris and Algiers are a long cry, one from the other--if you"re an Arab."
"Jove! You don"t think----"
"You"ve spotted it. That"s what I do think."
"That he shut her up?"