Chapter V

Sir Harry Tanneur had one admirable British quality. He had a supreme contempt for the foreigner. If the foreigner happened to be, moreover, of dusky hue, Sir Harry's scorn was rendered more poignant by a seasoning of pity. He was totally fearless of all danger. He had never been in danger except once, when he slipped up on a banana skin outside the Mansion House and had all but fallen under an omnibus. Thereafter Sir Harry was the avowed enemy of the banana industry and had carried his prejudice to the extent of refusing to underwrite a Jamaica loan. Danger with bullets in it, danger garnished with schrapnel; danger indeed of the cut and thrust order; he knew nothing about, and was accordingly genuinely amused when the British Vice-Consul advised him not to venture too far from the city.

"There's Valentini amongst the Riffi's, and El Ahmet playing round with the Angera people, and a thousand and one cutthroats wandering about, robbing each other," said the official, "altogether it is fairly unsafe to move out of Tangier without an escort."

Sir Harry smiled tolerantly.

"Thanks," he said airily, "it's very proper of you, of course, to warn me, you've got to protect your department, but I'm quite able to look after myself, and if it comes to fighting," he chuckled, nodding at Hal, "we've a fellow here who can teach these rascals a thing or two."

Lieutenant Hal Tanneur of the 9th West Kent, remarked modestly that there were one or two dodges, he could show them.

So in spite of all warning, Sir Harry rode out on the Fez Road, with Alicia on his left and the military gentleman on his right, and two mules, bearing respectively a cold collation and Mahmud Ali, that magnificent courier, guide, interpreter and bodyguard behind them.

It was not as pleasant a ride as Alicia had anticipated. Sir Harry was not in his very best mood, and Hal was sulky. That morning in the market Sir Harry and his son had come face to face with the Duke. An unexpected meeting for Sir Harry, who had not dreamt that the Duke would so completely fulfil his prophecy. With some vague misgivings Sir Harry remembered certain conversation with Bill Slewer.

He had been vexed at the time, and had perhaps spoken hastily and foolishly. He recalled dimly an historical parallel. A king had once said in his anger "Will nobody rid me of the turbulent priest," and straightway four rollicking spirits had driven over to Canonbury--or was it Canterbury? and sliced off the head of a worthy bishop, Cardinal Wolsey or somebody of the sort. These thoughts filled his mind as his Arab barb trotted through the sand.

In his annoyance he had accused Alicia of encouraging the Duke to follow her, and she had indignantly denied it. Hal, rashly coming to the support of his father, had been entirely and conclusively squashed.

So three people rode forth on a picnic harbouring uncharitable thoughts toward the Duc de Montvillier.

Sir Harry's wrath was tinctured with fear because of Big Bill Slewer of Four Ways, Texas.

Hal's anger was inflamed by jealousy, for he was in love with his cousin.

Alicia's annoyance was directed against the Duke because he had been the cause of her embarrassment.

Was Bill Slewer in Tangier? Sir Harry had sent the imposing Mahmud Ali to inquire, but Mahmud Ali had no familiars, as Rabbit had, and the answer he brought to his employer was unsatisfactory.

They rode in silence for an hour, with no sign of the enemy the vice-consul had foreshadowed. Alicia was in ignorance of that interview. Sir Harry had not deemed the conversation sufficiently interesting to repeat.

When they had reached the little hill whereon lunch was to be taken, he unbent. Possibly a pint of excellent champagne was responsible for his garrulity.

"Danger?" said Alicia, looking nervously about. "Oh, uncle, what a ridiculous thing to say."

"So _I_ said, my dear," said Sir Harry; "with Gibraltar a stone's throw away, and a British fleet to be had for the asking--it is all bosh to talk about danger."

"That is what _I_ said, governor," corrected Hal. "I pointed out that Morocco is in too dicky a position to fool about with British subjects--now who the devil is this?"

His last words were addressed to nobody in particular and Alicia followed the direction of his gaze.

Over a sandy ridge two miles away, pranced two horsemen. "Pranced" is the word, for that is the impression they conveyed. Hal, who was no fool despite all contrary views that might be held, knew that they were galloping pretty hard.

"They are making straight for us," said Sir Harry, and his face was a little pale.

Hal jumped up and gave an order to the guide. "Pack these things up as quick as you can," he ordered; "we can't be too careful."

He raised his glasses and fixed them on the riders. Then he swore.

"That damned Duke," he said and heard a long-drawn sigh behind him, where Alicia stood.

"Duke!" muttered Sir Harry, "confound the fellow! I thought it was--er--well, never mind. Who's the other man?"

"Who?" snorted Hal. "Who could it be, governor, but the Yankee person."

"Hum," said Sir Harry.

He was surprised to find that he did not resent the coming of his enemy as much as he thought he should. He bowed stiffly as the two drew rein, and was ready to be conventionally distant and polite. But he was unprepared for the Duke's greeting.

"What the dickens do you mean by coming out so far," demanded the Duke angrily. "How dare you expose Alicia to this danger!"

"Sir!" said the outraged knight.

"Get up, get up on your horses," commanded the Duke unceremoniously and like children they obeyed. Alicia stole a look at her lover. She experienced a shock.

His face was set and white, just as she had seen it twice before. There were rigid lines about his mouth and face, and his underjaw was thrust forward so that his whole face was transformed.

"Trot!" he said shortly, and they began their journey homeward.

Now and again Hank would turn in his saddle and look earnestly backward.

"Have you any arms?" asked the Duke suddenly.

"I have always made it a practice----" began Sir Harry.

"Have you got arms?" the Duke cut him short.

"No, I haven't!"

The Duke's lips curled.

"You wouldn't," he said and Sir Harry very rightly resented all that the words implied.

"Have you, Tanneur?" the Duke asked.

"I've got a revolver," said Hal meekly.

"Good; you, at least, have a glimmering of intelligence--do you see 'em, Hank."

The American shook his head.

"There's a ridge running parallel with us," he said, pointing away to the left. "I guess they are keeping up level, we'll see 'em soon."

The girl looked at the deserted ridge and her heart beat faster.

The Duke turned in his saddle and beckoned the guide.

"Did you know where you were taking these people?" he asked.

"By God and the prophet----!" the man protested.

"You didn't know Valentini was holding these hills, eh?"

The Duke's eyes glittered.

"Keep close to us," he ordered, "if you try to bolt when the shooting starts you're a dead man--sabe?"

"Si, senor," stammered the guide.

"Shooting! shooting!" spluttered Sir Harry, "is there any danger?"

"Yes."

"Danger to _us_?"

He received no answer.

For the next ten minutes they rode without speaking a word. Sir Harry thought a great deal.

"As you have taken so much trouble," he said at last, "I feel it is only my duty as a Christian and a gentleman to tell you that I have every reason to believe that an enemy of yours----"

"Bill Slewer," interrupted the Duke brusquely. "Yes, I know all about him. In fact I happen to know that he has prepared a little ambuscade for my especial benefit. He is waiting for my return to-night."

He said this in a matter-of-fact tone, as though referring to a dinner engagement. Alicia looked at him in some concern, and he smiled.

"I'm not worrying about Bill," he said; "it's----" He pointed to the ridge.