Arden glanced in surprise at his companion.
“I did not know that. I suppose that is the reason why you wish to visit Mequinez?”
Challoner’s sudden desire to travel inland to this town had been a mystery to Arden. He knew Challoner well, and knew him for a dilettante, an amiable amateur of the arts, a man always upon the threshold of a new interest, but never by any chance on the other side of the door, and, above all, a stay-at-home. Now the reason was explained.
“Yes,” Challoner admitted. “I was anxious to see Mequinez.”
“Both men came home when peace was declared, I suppose?” said Arden.
“No. Only one came home, James Challoner. The other, Luke, turned renegade to escape the sufferings of slavery, and was never allowed to come back. The two men were brothers.
“I discovered the story by chance. I was looking over the papers in the library one morning, in order to classify them, and I came across a manuscript play written by a Challoner after the Restoration. Between the leaves of the play an old, faded letter was lying. It had been written by James, on his return, to Luke’s wife, telling her she would never see Luke again. I will show you the letter this evening.”
“That’s a strange story,” said Arden. “Was nothing heard of Luke afterwards?”
“Nothing. No doubt he lived and died in Mequinez.”
Challoner looked back as he spoke. Dimoussi was still standing amongst the bushes watching the travellers recede from him. His plan was completely formed. There would be a djehad to-morrow, and the honour of it would belong to Dimoussi of Agurai.