Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece of waste land covered with small pebbles. Abdallah Jack sprang out.
“Why do we stop?” said Mrs. Greyne, turning as pale as ashes.
“The carriage can go no farther. Madame must walk.”
Mrs. Greyne began to tremble.
“We are to leave the coachman?”
“I shall escort madame, alone.”
The great novelist’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She felt like a Merrin’s exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered with African frailty. However, there was no help for it. She had to descend, and stand among the pebbles.
“Where are we going?”
Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a stone rampart dimly seen in the faint light that emanated from the starry sky.
“Down there into the alley of the Dead Dervishes.”