“I waked up the two Intelligence Officers, Colonel Renaud and Captain Brouarre,” he said. “They came down in their pyjamas. We went into the room on the right of the entrance here, and the Captain told us all again many bad things which have since been fulfilled.”
“And you wouldn’t believe Paul Ravenel!” Gerard looked at Baumann with a bitter amazement. “He gave you the warning, he, the wise one, and you thought he was exaggerating like some panic-stricken rich Fasi.”
“We hoped he was exaggerating,” said the unhappy Baumann. “You see, our hands were tied. Reports that disturbances were likely had gone to the Embassy before and had been not very civilly received. It was an order that no similar reports should be presented. It was late at night. We could do nothing.”
Gerard could read into the halting sentences all that Baumann was not the man to say.
“Well?” he asked, curtly. “What of Paul?”
Paul, very disappointed, had mounted his horse again and ridden off to the Bab Segma on his way to the camp at Dar-Debibagh.
“But he never reached the camp. He has not been seen since. We are all very much afraid.”
It was quite clear that Baumann had no hope at all that Paul Ravenel would ever be seen again.
“Most of our people scattered through Fez have been accounted for,” he added. “Many were rescued and brought here to safety. The bodies of others, too, but not of all. There has been no means of making enquiries.”
“That of course I understand,” said Gerard de Montignac, as he turned sorrowfully away.