The caïds paused at the door.
“Go on, Madani,” said the Caïd Aïssa.
“No, no, it’s not my turn,” he replied.
“And it isn’t mine,” said Marhoun.
“The kadi must play,” said the Caïd Ali.
“Yes, send along the kadi,” they all said.
“But I am always made to do this,” protested the man of peace, “and I always lose.”
“It’s about all you’re fit for,” laughed Marhoun.
This was considered a great joke, and they hustled him back into the presence of the bash agha, smiling at his woebegone expression.
He squatted down opposite the old gentleman, the chauffeur brought in some stones and placed them between the two players for counters. That mysterious Hispano-Mauresque game began, a game which came from the Peninsula when the Christian kings retook the Alhambra and drove out the Arabs. The kadi looked more and more like an early Victorian dandy than ever.