The Exiles and Other Stories | Page 8

Mulley Wazzam buy him a slave girl in Fez, and bring
her out to his house in the suburbs. It seems that the girl was in love
with a soldier in the Sultan's body-guard at Fez, and tried to run away
to join him, and this man met her quite by accident as she was making
her way south across the sand-hills. He was whip that day, and was
hurrying out to the meet alone. He had some words with the girl first,
and then took his whip--it was one of those with the long lash to it; you
know what I mean--and cut her to pieces with it, riding her down on his
pony when she tried to run, and heading her off and lashing her around
the legs and body until she fell; then he rode on in his damn pink coat
to join the ladies at Mango's Drift, where the meet was, and some Riffs
found her bleeding to death behind the sand-hills. That man held a
commission in the Emperor's own body-guard, and that's what Tangier
did for him."
Holcombe glanced at Meakim to see if he would verify this, but
Meakim's lips were tightly pressed around his cigar, and his eyes were
half closed.
"And what was done about it?" Holcombe asked, hoarsely.
Carroll laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. "Why, I tell you, and you
whisper it to the next man, and we pretend not to believe it, and call the
Riffs liars. As I say, we're none of us here for our health, Holcombe,
and a public opinion that's manufactured by _déclassée_ women and
men who have run off with somebody's money and somebody's else's
wife isn't strong enough to try a man for beating his own slave."
"But the Moors themselves?" protested Holcombe. "And the Sultan?
She's one of his subjects, isn't she?"
"She's a woman, and women don't count for much in the East, you
know; and as for the Sultan, he's an ignorant black savage. When the
English wanted to blow up those rocks off the western coast, the Sultan
wouldn't let them. He said Allah had placed them there for some good
reason of His own, and it was not for man to interfere with the works of

God. That's the sort of a Sultan he is." Carroll rose suddenly and
walked into the smoking-room, leaving the two men looking at each
other in silence.
"That's right," said Meakim, after a pause. "He give it to you just as it is,
but I never knew him to kick about it before. We're a fair field for
missionary work, Mr. Holcombe, all of us--at least, some of us are." He
glanced up as Carroll came back from out of the lighted room with an
alert, brisk step. His manner had changed in his absence.
"Some of the ladies have come over for a bit of supper," he said. "Mrs.
Hornby and her sister and Captain Reese. The _chef's_ got some birds
for us, and I've put a couple of bottles on ice. It will be like Del's--hey?
A small hot bird and a large cold bottle. They sent me out to ask you to
join us. They're in our rooms." Meakim rose leisurely and lit a fresh
cigar, but Holcombe moved uneasily in his chair. "You'll come, won't
you?" Carroll asked. "I'd like you to meet my wife."
Holcombe rose irresolutely and looked at his watch. "I'm afraid it's too
late for me," he said, without raising his face. "You see, I'm here for my
health. I--"
"I beg your pardon," said Carroll, sharply.
"Nonsense, Carroll!" said Holcombe. "I didn't mean that. I meant it
literally. I can't risk midnight suppers yet. My doctor's orders are to go
to bed at nine, and it's past twelve now. Some other time, if you'll be so
good; but it's long after my bedtime, and--"
"Oh, certainly," said Carroll, quietly, as he turned away. "Are you
coming, Meakim?"
Meakim lifted his half-empty glass from the table and tasted it slowly
until Carroll had left them, then he put the glass down, and glanced
aside to where Holcombe sat looking out over the silent city. Holcombe
raised his eyes and stared at him steadily.
"Mr. Holcombe--" the fugitive began.
"Yes," replied the lawyer.
Meakim shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Good-night, sir."
Holcombe's rooms were on the floor above Carroll's, and the laughter
of the latter's guests and the tinkling of glasses and silver came to him
as he stepped out upon his balcony. But for this the night was very still.
The sea beat leisurely on the rocks, and the waves ran up the sandy
coast with a sound as of some one sweeping. The music of women's

laughter came up to him suddenly, and he