ced. The murderer's feet were shod with patched slippers, and the
sound of these slippers shuffling close behind me made me feel faintly
uneasy. The Spahi stared at my cigar so persistently that I was obliged
to offer him one. When I had done so, and he had loftily accepted it, I
half turned towards the murderer. The Spahi scowled ferociously. I put
my cigar-case back into my pocket. It is unwise to offend the powerful
if your sympathy lies with the powerless.

Sidi-Massarli was soon explored. It contained a Cafe Maure, into which
I peered. In the coffee niche the embers glowed. One or two ragged Arabs
sat hunched upon the earthen divans playing a game of cards. At least I
should have my coffee after my tinned dinner. I was turning to go back
to the Bordj when the extreme desolation of the desert around, now
fading in the shadows of a moonless night, stirred me to a desire.
Sidi-Massarli was dreary enough. Still it contained habitations, men. I
wished to feel the blank, wild emptiness of this world, so far from the
world of civilisation from which I had come, to feel it with intensity.
I resolved to mount the low hill down which I had seen the Spahi ride,
to descend into the fold of desert beyond it, to pause there a moment,
out of sight of the hamlet, listen to the breeze, look at the darkening
sky, feel the sand-grains stinging my cheeks, shake hands with the
Sahara.

But I wanted to shake hands quite alone. I therefore suggested to the
Spahi that he should remain in the Cafe Maure and drink a cup of coffee
at my expense.

"And where is monsieur going?"

"Only over that hill for a moment."

"I will accompany monsieur."

"But you must be tired. A cup of----"

"I will accompany monsieur."

In Arab fashion he was establishing a claim upon me. On the morrow, when
I was about to depart, he would point out that he had guided me round
Sidi-Massarli, had guarded me in my dangerous expedition beyond its
fascinations, despite his weariness and hunger. I knew how useless it is
to contend with these polite and persistent rascals, so I said no more.

In a few minutes the Spahi, the murderer and I stood in the fold of the
sand dunes, and Sidi-Massarli was blotted from our sight.

II

The desolation here was complete. All around us lay the dunes, monstrous
as still leviathans. Here and there, between their strange, suggestive
shapes, under the dark sky one could see the ghastly whiteness of the
saltpetre in the a