A silver tea kettle was brought and a silver spirit lamp, and Si El Hadj Arrifa brewed two little cups of heavily sweetened green tea and flavoured it with mint. But even while engaged upon this important work, he still kept his head cocked a little on one side, as though he still listened for some dreaded yet expected sound. And when he handed the cup to Paul, it rattled in the saucer.
Nothing on this evening had so startled Paul Ravenel. His heart jumped within his breast. Si El Hadj Arrifa was not merely disturbed. His hand was shaking. He was desperately afraid. He drew a breath and leaned forward to speak and Ravenel said to himself with relief. “At last! It is coming.”
But he was wrong. His host only enquired whether Paul had ever visited America.
“No,” he answered.
“A man in Manchester told me that they had a way there of stuffing turkeys which was very good. But they used oysters for it and of course so far from the sea we can get none at Fez.”
“Some day there will be a railway,” said Paul consolingly. Si El Hadj Arrifa made another brew of tea, this time suspending in the brew a little lump of ambergris to flavour it.
“I must begin,” thought Paul, as he took his cup. He felt for the big letter in his tunic but before he could take it from his breast his host spoke in a low, quiet tone, words which at first seemed of little more importance than any which had been spoken before, and afterwards were able to set Paul’s heart fluttering.
“I sent a messenger this evening to you at the camp at Dar-Debibagh.
“He missed me,” replied Paul.
“It is a pity.”