that they must get on, and bade the Caid good-bye after an hour's talk.
As for the _gazelle approvoisee_, Nevill named her Josette, and hired an
Arab to take her to Algiers by the diligence, with explicit instructions
as to food and milk.

Swarms of locusts flew into their faces, and fell into the car, or were
burned to death in the radiator, as they sped along the road towards the
white house on the golden hill. They started from Bou-Saada at ten
o'clock, and though the road was far from good, and they were not always
sure of the way, the noon heat was scarcely at its height when Stephen
said: "There it is! That must be the hill and the white wall with the
towers."

"Yes, there's the cemetery too," answered Nevill. "We're seeing it on
our left side, as we go, I hope that doesn't mean we're in for bad
luck."

"Rot!" said Stephen, promptly. Yet for all his scorn of Nevill's
grotesque superstitions, he was not in a confident mood. He did not
expect much good from this visit to Ben Halim's old country house. And
the worst was, that here seemed their last chance of finding out what
had become of Saidee Ray, if not of her sister.

The sound of the motor made a brown face flash over the top of the tall
gate, like a Jack popping out of his box.

"La Sidi, el Caid?" asked Nevill. "Is he at home?"

The face pretended not to understand; and having taken in every detail
of the strangers' appearance and belongings, including the motor-car, it
disappeared.

"What's going to happen now?" Stephen wanted to know.

Nevill looked puzzled. "The creature isn't too polite. Probably it's
afraid of Roumis, and has never been spoken to by one before. But I hope
it will promptly scuttle indoors and fetch its master, or some one with
brains and manners."

Several minutes passed, and the yellow motor-car continued to advertise
its presence outside the Caid's gate by panting strenuously. The face
did not show itself again; and there was no evidence of life behind the
white wall, except the peculiarly ominous yelping of Kabyle dogs.

"Let's pound on the gate, and show them we mean to get in," said
Stephen, angry-eyed.

But Nevill counselled waiting. "Never be in a hurry when you have to do
with Arabs. It's patience that pays."

"Here come two chaps on horseback," Stephen said, looking down at the
desert track that trailed near the distant cluster of mud houses, which
were like square blocks of gold in the fierce sunshine. "They seem