scious
self. Now I'll take a leaf out of her book. By Jove--there's one of the
men now. Don't look yet. He doesn't seem to notice us, but who knows?
He's standing by the door, under a palm. Let's go back into the
ball-room, and see if he follows."

But to "see if he followed" was more easily said than done. The Arab, a
melancholy and grizzled but dignified caid of the south, contrived to
lose himself in a crowd of returning dancers, and it was not until later
that the friends saw him in the ball-room, talking to a French officer
and having not at all the air of one who spied or followed. Whether he
remained because they remained was hard to say, for the scene was
amusing and many Arabs watched it; but he showed no sign of
restlessness, and it began to seem laughable to Nevill that, if he
waited for them, they would be forced to wait for him. Eventually they
made a pretence of eating supper. The caid was at the buffet with an
Arab acquaintance. The Englishmen lingered so long, that in the end he
walked away; yet they were at his beck and call. They must go after him,
if he went before them, and it was irritating to see that, when he had
taken respectful leave of his host, the sad-faced caid proceeded quietly
out of the palace as if he had nothing to conceal. Perhaps he had
nothing or else, suspecting the game, he was forcing the hand of the
enemy. Stephen and Nevill had to follow, if they would keep him in
sight; and though they walked as far behind as possible, passing out of
the brilliantly lighted park, they could not be sure that he did not
guess they were after him.

They had walked the short distance from Djenan el Djouad to the
Governor's summer palace; and now, outside the gates, the caid turned to
the left, which was their way home also. This was lucky, because, if the
man were on the alert, and knew where Nevill lived, he would have no
reason to suppose they took this direction on his account.

But he had not gone a quarter of a mile when he stopped, and rang at a
gate in a high white wall.

"Djenan el Taleb," mumbled Nevill. "Perhaps Si Maieddine's visiting
there--or else this old beggar is."

"Is it an Arab's house?" Stephen wanted to know.

"Was once--long ago as pirate days. Now a Frenchman owns it--Monsieur de
Mora--friend of the Governor's. Always puts up several chiefs at the
time of the ball."

The gate opened to let the caid in and was shut again.

"Hurrah!--just thought of a plan," exclaimed