“Si Tayeb Reha?” Gerard repeated. “That is his name? I had a thought it might be Ben Sedira.”
The Basha shook his head.
“That is not a name known in Mulai Idris.”
He turned to his notables and took leave of them with ceremonious speeches. Then he mounted his mule again and rode down the hill beside Gerard with the sergeant and the escort at their heels. Gerard said not a word now. He was thinking of those carefully constructed trenches outside the city, and his face grew hard as granite. They came to a house of two storeys with one latticed window in the uppermost floor, and for the rest a blank wall upon the street. It was for Fez a small house, for Mulai Idris one of importance. The door opened upon a side street, and the sergeant knocked upon it whilst Gerard and the Basha dismounted. There followed a long silence whilst a little crowd gathered about the soldiers. Gerard wondered what message that sharp loud knocking brought to the inmate. Had he seen the cavalcade ride past from a corner of that latticed window and with a smile upon his lips believed himself to be safe? What a shattering blow, then, must have been this sudden knocking upon his door? Or was he himself altogether in error? Gerard drew a breath of relief at the mere hope that it might be so. Well, he would know now, for the door was opened. And in a moment all Gerard’s hopes fell. For the native who opened it was surprised into a swift movement as his eyes fell upon Gerard in his uniform. It was a movement which he checked before he had completed it, but he was too late. He had betrayed himself. It was the involuntary movement of an old soldier standing to attention at the sudden appearance of an officer.
The Basha spoke a few words to the servant who stood inside. There was no court in this house. A staircase faced them steeply, and on the right hand of it was the kitchen. Gerard turned to the servant as he passed in.
“And what is your name?”
“Selim,” answered the servant. He led the way up the dark staircase. There was no window upon the staircase; the only light came from the doorway upon the street. At the top there was a landing furnished with comfort, and in the middle of the landing was a fine door. Selim knocked upon it, and would have opened it. But Gerard laid his hand upon his arm and with a gesture in place of words bade him stand aside. He opened the door himself and entered. He was standing in a room of low roof but wide. It was furnished altogether in the Moorish style, and with a certain elegance. But the elegance was rather in the disposition of the room than in the quality of its equipment. One great window, with a balcony protected by a rail, gave light to the room; and it looked not upon the street but across a great chasm to the mountain, for the house was built upon the town wall. The light thus flooded the room. Close to the window a tall Moor was standing. He bowed and took a step forward.
“Had I hoped that your Excellency would do me the honour to visit my poor house,” he said with a smile, “I should have made a better preparation.”
He had a small beard trimmed neatly to a point and a thin line of moustache. Gerard did not answer him for a little while. He took out his note book and wrote in it and detached the leaf. Then he sent Selim down the stairs to fetch up the sergeant of his escort; and it was noticeable that, scrupulous as he usually was in this land of observances, he made use of the servant as his messenger without troubling himself to ask the master’s permission.
When the sergeant came up into the room, Gerard handed him the sheet of paper.