Desert Air | Page 6

bolts, grumbling and swearing, and I went out into enfer. For he was right. A sandstorm at night in Beni-Kouidar is hell.
"Luckily, Safti joined me mysteriously from the deuce knows where, and we staggered to the dancing-house somehow, and struggled in, blinded, our faces scored, our clothes heavy with sand, our pockets, our very boots, weighed down with it.
"The tomtoms were roaring, the pipe was yelling, blown by the frantic demon with his hood full of latch keys, the impassible, bearded faces were watching the painted women who, in their red garments and their golden crowns, promenaded down the earthen floor, between the divans, fluttering their dyed fingers, smiling grotesquely like idols, bending forward their greasy foreheads to receive the tribute of their admirers.
"I ran my eyes swiftly over the mob. Marnier was not in it. I pushed my way towards the doorway on the left which gave on to the court of the dancers.
"Safti caught hold of my arm.
"'It is not safe to go in there on such a night, Sidi. There are no lamps. It is black as a tomb. And no one can tell who may be there. Nomads, perhaps, men of evil from the south. Many murders have been done in the court on black nights, and no one can say who has done them. For all the time men go in and out to the rooms of the dancers.'
"'Nevertheless, Safti, I must----'
"I stopped speaking, for at this moment Batouch, the brother of the Ca?d of Beni-Kouidar, came slowly in through the doorway from the blackness of the sand-swept court. There was a strange smile on his handsome face, and he was caressing his black beard gently with one delicate hand. He saw me, smiled more till I caught the gleam of his white teeth, passed on into the dancing-house, sat down on a divan, and called for coffee. I could not take my eyes from him. Every movement he made fascinated me. He drew from his pale blue robe a silver box, opened it, lifted out a pinch of tobacco, and began carefully to roll a cigarette. And all the time he smiled.
"A glacial cold crept over my body. As he lit his cigarette I caught hold of Safti, and hurried through the doorway into the blackness of the whirling sand."
*****
Here I stopped.
"Well?" said young England. "Well?"
The doctor did not speak.
"Well," I answered. "Algia danced that night. While she was dancing we found a dead body in the court. It was Marnier's. A knife had been thrust into him from behind!"
"Ah!" said the doctor.
"But--" exclaimed young England, "it was that fellow? It was Batouch?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Nobody ever found out who did it."
"Well, but of course----"
He checked himself, and an expression of admiration dawned slowly over his healthy, handsome face.
"I say," he said, "to be able to roll a cigarette directly afterwards! What infernal cheek!"
"Desert air!" I replied. "My dear chap--desert air!"
The doctor nodded.

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