told them that he knew Saidee, or that he had
actually heard of the girl's arrival in the Zaouia. He longed to tell
and join with them in their quest; but it would have seemed a disloyalty
to the woman he loved. It needed a still greater incentive to make him
speak out; while as for the Englishmen, though they would gladly have
taken his advice, they hesitated to give away the secret of Saidee Ray's
husband to a representative of Ben Halim's stern judge, France.

Various plans for action had been discussed, yet Stephen and Nevill both
felt that all were subject to modification. Each had the hope that the
silent hours would bring inspiration, and so they parted at last. But
Stephen had not been in his room ten minutes when there came a gentle
tap at his door. He thought that it must be Nevill, returning to
announce the birth of a new idea; but in the dark corridor stood a
shadowy Arab, he who did most of the work in the hotel outside the
kitchen.

"A person has come with a letter for Monsieur," the man mumbled in bad
French, his voice so sleepy as to be almost inarticulate. "He would not
give it to me, the foolish one. He insists on putting it into the hand
of Monsieur. No doubt it is a pourboire he wants. He has followed me to
the head of the stairs, and he has no French."

"Where does he come from?" asked Stephen.

"He will not say. But he is a Negro whom I have never seen in the city."

"Call him," Stephen said. And in a moment a thin young Negro, dusted all
over with sand, came into the square of light made by the open door. His
legs were bare, and over his body he appeared to have no other garment
but a ragged, striped gandourah. In a purple-black hand he held a folded
piece of paper, and Stephen's heart jumped at sight of his own name
written in a clear handwriting. It was not unlike Victoria's but it was
not hers.

"The man says he cannot take a letter back," explained the Arab servant.
"But if Monsieur will choose a word to answer, he will repeat it over
and over until he has it by heart. Then he will pass it on in the same
way."

Stephen was reading his letter and scarcely heard. It was Victoria's
sister who wrote. She signed herself at the bottom of the bit of
paper--a leaf torn from a copy book--"Saidee Ray," as though she had
never been married. She had evidently written in great haste, but the
thing she proposed was clearly set forth, as if in desperation. Victoria
did not approve, she said, and hope