Julie came in with the coffee. She poured us each a cup and took the rest upstairs. We drank it scalding hot, conscious of the growing murmur of the advancing mob. It wasn’t such a large mob, but it seemed more compact. It was bunched up behind the man on the mule and there were very few women in it. Knives flashed in the sunshine as they neared the house. Several men carried swords and one a lance. There were guns, too.
There was no hesitation this time. They came straight on towards the house. The leader trotted his mule up to the door and shouted, ‘Give us the men who killed Ali. Give us the slayers of the men in the gorge.’ He was a tall, bearded man with dark, aquiline features. He was the man who had shaken his fist at us from the entrance to the gorge after the slide.
‘Get up the stairs,’ Bilvidic said to me. And when I hesitated, he added, ‘There is nothing you can do to stop them this time. Get upstairs. Georges and I will hold them. Take everybody up to the roof. Hurry, monsieur. I don’t think they will hurt the women.’
The man was looking in at us now. I saw recognition in his eyes and the blaze of a fierce hatred. He shouted something and then his face vanished abruptly. The next instant a lump of concrete was flung with a crash through the window. He was screaming at the crowd and they answered with a deep, baying roar, split by wild cries as they swarmed forward.
‘Up the stairs, all of you,’ Bilvidic shouted.
We backed away from the room. I motioned Jan and Ed to go on ahead. The two Frenchmen were also backing across the room, their guns in their hands. The tide of the Berber mob rolled against the house, breaking against it, lapping round it. Windows crashed in, the frames splintered under heavy blows. Men climbed through over the sills. The door fell open with a crash. The room was suddenly full of them.
Bilvidic and Georges were in the archway between the main room and the study. The Berbers, finding themselves in unfamiliar surroundings, hesitated - uncertain and suspicious like animals. They stood, silent and baffled, facing the two Frenchmen. Their momentary stillness was full of fear.
Then the study windows were broken in and Bilvidic was forced to move back to the stairs. The tribesmen thrust forward, milling into the alcove between the two rooms. A gun was fired and a bullet slapped the wall above our heads. Bilvidic was backing steadily. It was only a matter of time. I turned, gripping my gun, and ordered everybody up to the roof top. ‘Keep down though,’ I shouted. ‘Keep down below the parapet.’
A ladder led from the top storey on to the flat roof. Julie was waiting for me there and our hands gripped. Karen went up and then Jan and then Ed. We were alone on the landing with the guttural jabber of the Berbers lapping the house. She was looking up at me and my grip on her hand tightened. And then suddenly she was in my arms and our lips touched, a kiss that was without passion, that was a physical expression of what we were suddenly feeling for each other, of the love we had found. Then the door behind us was flung open and crashed to again as Bilvidic and Georges thrust their shoulders against it and turned the key. ‘Montez! Montez!’ Bilvidic shouted. ‘Up on to the roof. Quick!’
I pushed Julie up and followed quickly after her. And as my head emerged into the slanting sunlight, I heard Jan shouting something excitedly. Georges followed me and then Bilvidic. The noise of the mob milling round the house was terrifying. A gun fired and a bullet whined over our heads. I pulled Julie down. Bilvidic and Georges were hauling up the ladder whilst blows rained on the door they had locked against pursuit. It splintered and burst open and at the same moment they dropped the trap-door leading on to the roof.
And then I heard what Jan was shouting. ‘Look! Philip. Look!’
I lifted my head above the parapet. A lone horseman was galloping across the open space between the two forts. It was a French officer. He rode bent low over the horse’s neck, his round, pale blue hat screening his face, his cloak streaming out behind him. The horse, a big black, was lathered white with sweat and dust.
Julie and I stood up then. It was so magnificent. He was riding straight for the house, urging his horse on as though he intended to ride the mob down.
The roar of voices that circled the house gradually died as the horse, almost foundering, was pulled on to its haunches on the very edge of the thickest of the mob where they milled around the front door. ‘Abdul! Hassan!’ The rider had singled out two men from the mob and ordered them to take charge and clear the crowd from the doorway. ‘You. Mohammed. Drop that gun!’
It was Legard. His body sagged with exhaustion, his eyes blazed with tiredness. His horse could barely stand. Yet he and the horse moved into the mob as though they were reviewing troops on parade. Here and there he singled out a man and gave an order.
In a moment the mob was moving back away from the house. They were going sheepishly, their eyes turned away from the Capitaine. They were no longer a mass. They were just a crowd of rather subdued individuals moving quickly away from the scene, anxious to avoid recognition. They were like children and he scolded them like children. ‘Moha! Why are you not looking to your goats? Abdul! You should be teaching the children today. Youssef! Mohammed!’
, He picked them out, one by one, riding his horse in amongst them. He seemed to know them all by name and what they should be doing. And at no time was his voice raised in anger. It was only pained.
‘Mohammed Ali. You here, too? Why do you make me ride so hard today? Yakoub. I have been to get food for you and now you have brought me back.’
He knew them all and they ducked past him, their heads bowed in respect and contrition. ‘Llah ihennik, O Sidi - Allah keep you in peace, O master.’ And they scuttled away across the sands in ones and twos, like whipped dogs with their tails between their legs.
The noise of the mob died into the whisper of individuals and then into silence. Even the voices immediately below us, searching for a way up to the roof top, became subdued and receded into silence. One by one the men who had invaded the house came out, and Legard sat his horse, watching them - and to them he said nothing. They murmured their greetings, grovelling before the sternness of his face, and then they slunk away.
The last to come out was the man who had been their leader. He stood for a moment facing Legard. Neither spoke and the man’s head dropped and he ran quickly to his mule and left.
We rigged the ladder then and went down. Legard was standing in the door of the house surveying the wreckage as we came down the stairs. He looked at us in silence. He was drooping with tiredness and I saw that it wasn’t only the dust of travel that made his face grey. He looked desperately ill. His eyes glittered as they fastened on us. ‘Imbeciles!’ he cried, his voice savage with anger. ‘You are here two days and you cause trouble.’ He began to cough. ‘My relief has arrived and now I have to come here and deal with this. All because of you, because you are so stupid that you …’ His words were lost in a fit of coughing. He staggered forward to the settee and collapsed into it, clutching at his stomach, his eyes half closed. ‘See to my horse,’ he croaked. ‘Somebody see to that poor devil of a horse.’ He began to cough again.
Bilvidic sent Georges out to look after the animal. ‘What can I do for him?’ Julie whispered.
‘Get him some water,’ I said. I went over to him. ‘Monsieur le Capitaine,’ I said. ‘I’d like to thank you -for us all.’
His eyes stared at me coldly.
‘I’d like to thank you, too,’ Ed said. ‘But why the hell did you have to come alone?’ he added. ‘What happened to the troops?’
‘What troops?’ Legard asked harshly.
Ed turned to Bilvidic. ‘Didn’t the Commandant promise to send troops?’
‘Why should he?’ Legard pushed himself up on to his elbow. ‘What did you want troops for? These men aren’t vicious. They’re like little children. Anyway, there aren’t any troops. We have no troops down here.’
Ed hesitated and then he grinned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Okay. Whatever you say. But thanks all the same.’
Legard didn’
t say anything, but I saw the severe lines of his mouth relax into the ghost of a smile which spread up into his eyes so that they were slightly crinkled at the corners and he looked younger and less ill. Julie brought him the water and he gulped it down. ‘Alors.’ He pushed himself up into a sitting position. ‘Now explain to me everything that has happened. I have already sent for Caid Hassan and for the Khailifa. What happened? Monsieur Latham, suppose you tell me.’
‘Caid Hassan is dead,’ I said.
‘Yes, of course. I had forgotten.’ He closed his eyes, screwing them up as though they were still half-blinded by sun and sand. ‘It is a pity. He was a fine old man.’ He pressed his fingers against the balls of his eyes and then got to his feet with an abrupt, determined movement. ‘Bilvidic. A word with you, please.’ The two Frenchmen went through into the study.
A sudden stillness descended upon the room. It was an uneasy stillness and I glanced across at Jan. He was standing with his back to the fire, his hands behind him, the palms open to the blaze. The muscles of his face were rigid and his head was thrust a little forward. He was frowning and there was a look of concentration on his face -as though he were listening to their conversation. But the curtain had been drawn across the study entrance and all we could hear was the drone of their voices. There was a question I wanted to ask him, but I couldn’t because Ed was there.
Mohammed came in, his sandals slapping the tiles as he crossed the room. He went into the study and announced that the Khailifa and the old Caid’s son had arrived. ‘Tell them to wait for me at the Bureau,’ Legard said and Mohammed went out again. The stillness of the room became unbearable. Ed walked over to the window and stared out towards the mountains. ‘Well, that’s that, I guess.’ He was speaking to himself.
Jan’s head jerked up. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? That shaft will never be opened up now.’ He was still gazing towards the mountains, seeing in his mind again the landslide thundering into the mouth of the gorge. ‘All that work for nothing.’
‘You mean you’re giving up?’ There was a note of surprise in Jan’s voice.
Ed turned towards him with a quick, irritable movement of his body. ‘What else can I do? I can’t clear that slide away. There’s too much of it.’
‘We know the position of the shaft. We could tunnel down to it.’
‘How? I’ve no equipment and I’m just about broke.’
‘We could use local labour. As for money, there’s the insurance on your bulldozers.’
‘They weren’t insured. I didn’t think there was any reason to insure them.’
He had turned back to the window. Silence descended again on the room. Jan was standing very still. His hands behind his back were clenched now and I saw that his gaze had shifted back to the entrance to the study. And then the curtains were pulled aside and Legard and Bilvidic came out. ‘I will arrange for the mules to be ready at nine o’clock,’ Legard said, ‘Ca va?’
Bilvidic nodded. Legard picked his blue stiff hat up off the table where he had flung it and slung his cape round his shoulders. As he went towards the door he paused and looked at Jan. ‘At least, monsieur, you seem to have succeeded in carrying out Duprez’s wishes.’ He stared at him for a moment and I realised with a shock that Jan was incapable of meeting the man’s gaze. Then Legard twitched his cloak closer round his body and went out. The door banged to behind him.
The sun had set now and night was closing in. The room was growing dark and I could no longer see Jan’s face clearly. My shoulder hurt and I was feeling drained of energy, wishing we were away from the place. Bilvidic shouted for Mohammed and ordered him to light the lamps. But even in the soft lamp-glow the room had a cold, alien look. The sense of tension was still there.
And then the telephone buzzer sounded. Bilvidic went through into the study to answer it. He was gone a long while and when he came back he paused in the archway between the two rooms. He was looking at Jan. ‘Monsieur Wade. You will please come through into the study. There are some questions I have to ask you. You, too, Latham,’ he added, turning to me.
The, moment I had been dreading had arrived. I pulled myself to my feet. Jan was already following Bilvidic into the study. Karen was staring after him, her body rigid, her face pale and taut with strain. Her small hands were clenched as though she were trying to will with all the strength of her body that everything would be all right.
I went through into the study, conscious that my footsteps sounded very loud on the bare tiles. Bilvidic was already seated at the desk. ‘Asseyez-vous, monsieur.’ He waved me to a chair. ‘That telephone call was from Casablanca. I have orders to phone through a preliminary report on this matter to my headquarters tonight.’ He pulled out his pack of American cigarettes and lit one. ‘Monsieur Wade.’ He was looking across at Jan. ‘From the time you entered French Morocco until I confronted you with Madame Kavan you had assumed the name and identity of Dr Kavan. Why? Explain please.’ He was the policeman again: cold, precise, logical.
I looked at Jan. His hands gripped the arms of his chair and his body was braced. He hesitated momentarily. It seemed an age. Then he shifted his position. ‘Because I had to,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Bilvidic’s voice was still and hard.
‘What else was I to do? Kostos had taken my passport. But I still had Kavan’s papers and I had to get to Kasbah Foum.’ His voice sounded nervous.
‘Why did you not report the loss of your passport to the authorities? The International Police were the proper people to deal with the matter.’
‘But that would have taken time. Listen, monsieur.’ Jan leaned forward and the nervousness was suddenly gone from his voice. ‘I was with Kavan over two weeks in the confined space of a small boat. He told me the whole story - how Duprez had given him the deeds and had made him promise to get his title to Kasbah Foum confirmed before Caid Hassan died. If he didn’t, the property, with all its potential wealth, would have passed to Ali. You know the sort of man Ali was. He would have used that wealth against France. He would have purchased arms. Kavan was dead. I accepted his responsibility as though it were my own. It was the least I could do.’ He stopped then. He was breathing heavily.
‘Nevertheless,’ Bilvidic said, ‘you should have reported the loss of your passport to the police.’
‘Damn it, man. Don’t you understand?’ Jan’s anger was genuine. ‘Kostos was waiting for me there on the beach at Tangier. The matter was urgent. Latham understood. That was why he agreed to get me out on Kavan’s papers.’
‘Very well, monsieur. It is understood. But why do you have to go on calling yourself Kavan?’
‘What else could I do? I was here in Morocco on Kavan’s papers. Besides, Caid Hassan wouldn’t have confirmed the title to anyone but Kavan.’
‘Ah. That is the real point, eh?’ There was a cold glint in Bilvidic’s eyes. ‘You had to be Kavan in order to obtain the title to Kasbah Foum.’
‘Are you suggesting I arranged for Kostos to steal my passport?’ Jan demanded. ‘Do you think I enjoyed getting out of Tangier the way I did and coming down here under an assumed name? It was dangerous. But I had to do it.’ He got up suddenly and walked over to the desk, leaning on it and staring down at Bilvidic. ‘What you’re implying is a motive of personal gain. What you should be considering is the alternative. Your troops are all fighting in Indo-China. Caid Hassan is dead, and if Ali were now alive and the owner of Kasbah Foum …’ He thrust his head forward slightly, staring at Bilvidic. ‘Be thankful, monsieur, that it has turned out the way it has. If there is silver there, then it will be developed for the benefit of the people. It was what Kavan wanted. It is what I promised Caid Hassan.’
I glanced at Bilvidic. The whole thing was so logical that I almost believed it myself. The detective was staring at Jan. He didn’t say anything and a silence settled on the room. Jan had turned away from the desk. I wondered how long he could stand the silence. There were beads of sweat on his f
orehead. And then I saw Bilvidic relax in his chair. He drew gently on his cigarette. ‘Perhaps you will go and join the others now,’ he said to Jan. ‘I would like a word with Latham alone.’
Jan hesitated and glanced at me. He looked tired.
Then he turned without a word and went out through the curtains. I moved uneasily in my chair, turning to face Bilvidic. He was watching me, his cigarette held vertical between two fingers and a thumb. ‘How is the shoulder?’ he asked me. ‘Painful?’
‘A little,’ I said, waiting.
His face softened to a smile and he offered me a cigarette. ‘There are one or two questions I would like to ask you. First, who suggested that method of getting him out of the International Zone - you or he?’
‘I did.’
He nodded. ‘That is what I thought. I have seen your security report. Perhaps you have had previous experience of that method, eh?’
‘Perhaps,’ I said.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, that is for Tangier to worry about. Now, this matter of Kavan being lost overboard from the yacht. Did our friend tell you how it happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘In detail?’
‘Yes.’ I explained when he had told me and he nodded. ‘Good. He would have been tired then. Will you repeat it to me in the exact words he used, as far as you can remember them.’ I did so and he sat for a long time, tapping his pencil against his teeth. ‘Have you sailed yachts at all?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Quite a lot when I was a boy.’
‘And do you believe this story? Could a man fall overboard like that - or would it be necessary to push him? Remember, the storm was finished.’
‘You don’t need a storm for a thing like that to happen,’ I said. ‘It can happen quite easily.’ I was determined to convince him on this point. ‘The guardrails are often no more than thirty inches high - less than a metre,’ I explained. ‘Even in a quiet sea a man can go overboard, if he’s careless - especially if there isn’t much wind and the boat is rolling.’ He made no comment and I added quickly, ‘In this case, though the storm was over, there was still a big sea running. If you make a quick move out of the cockpit in such conditions and the stern of the boat falls away in a trough…’ He still said nothing. ‘They were both very tired,’ I said. ‘That was confirmed by the log.’
The Strange Land Page 28
