Hilary hoped to avoid having to see the old city of Fez in the depressing company of Miss Hetherington. Fortunately the latter was invited by Mrs. Baker to come with her on an expedition by car. Since Mrs. Baker made it clear that she was going to pay for the car, Miss Hetherington, whose travelling allowance was dwindling in an alarming manner, accepted with avidity. Hilary, after inquiry at the desk, was supplied with a guide, and set forth to see the city of Fez.
They started from the terrace, going down through the succession of terraced gardens until they reached an enormous door in the wall at the bottom. The guide produced a key of mammoth proportions, unlocked the door which swung slowly open, and motioned Hilary to pass through.
It was like stepping into another world. All about her were the walls of Old Fez. Narrow winding streets, high walls, and occasionally, through a doorway, a glimpse of an interior or a courtyard, and moving all around her were laden donkeys, men with their burdens, boys, women veiled and unveiled, the whole busy secret life of this Moorish city. Wandering through the narrow streets she forgot everything else, her mission, the past tragedy of her life, even herself.
She was all eyes and ears, living and walking in a dream world. The only annoyance was the guide who talked unceasingly, and urged her into various establishments into which she had no particular wish to go.
'You look, lady. This man have very nice things, very cheap, really old, really Moorish. He have gowns and silks. You like very nice beads?'
The eternal commerce of East selling to West went on, but it hardly disturbed the charm for Hilary. She soon lost all sense of place or direction. Here within this walled city she had little idea of whether she was walking north or south or whether she were retracing her steps over the same streets through which she had already passed. She was quite exhausted when the guide made his final suggestion, which was evidently part of the routine.
'I take you very nice house, now, very superior. Friends of mine. You have mint tea there and they show you plenty lovely things.'
Hilary recognised the well-known gambit which Mrs. Calvin Baker had described. However, she was willing to see, or be taken to see, anything that was suggested. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would come into the Old City alone and wander around without a guide chattering by her elbow. So she allowed herself to be guided through a gateway and up a winding path climbing up more or less outside the city walls. They arrived at last at a garden surrounding an attractive house built in native style.
Here in a big room with a fine view out over the city, she was urged to sit down at a small coffee table.
In due course glasses of mint tea were brought. To Hilary who did not like sugar with her tea, it was somewhat of an ordeal to drink it. But by banishing the idea of tea from her mind, and merely thinking of it as a new kind of lemonade, she managed almost to enjoy it. She enjoyed, too, being shown rugs and beads and draperies, embroideries and various other things. She made one or two small purchases more out of good manners than for any other reason. The indefatigable guide then said,
'I have car ready now and take you very nice short drive. One hour, not more, see very beautiful scenery and country. And then back to hotel.' He added, assuming a suitably discreet expression, 'This girl here, she take you first to very nice ladies' toilet.'
The girl who had served the tea was standing by them smiling, and said at once in careful English,
'Yes, yes, Madame. You come with me. We have very fine toilet, oh very fine. Just like the Ritz Hotel. Same as in New York or Chicago. You see!'
Smiling a little, Hilary followed the girl. The toilet hardly rose to the heights claimed for it, but it did at least have running water. There was a wash basin and a small cracked mirror which had such distorting proportions that Hilary almost shrank back in alarm at the sight of her own face. When she had washed and dried her hands, which she did on her own handkerchief, not much caring for the appearance of the towel, she turned to leave.
In some way, however, the door of the toilet appeared to have stuck. She turned and rattled the handle unavailingly. It would not move. Hilary wondered whether it had been bolted or locked from the outside. She grew angry. What was the idea of shutting her in there? Then she noticed that there was another door in a corner of the room. Going to it she turned the handle. This time the door opened easily enough. She passed through.
She found herself in a small eastern looking room with light that came only from slits high in the wall. Sitting there on a low divan, smoking, was the little Frenchman she had met in the train, M. Henri Laurier.
II
He did not rise to greet her. He merely said, and the timbre of his voice was slightly changed,
'Good afternoon, Mrs. Betterton.'
For a moment Hilary stood motionless. Astonishment held her in its grip. So this – was it! She pulled herself together. 'This is what you've been expecting. Act as you think she would act.' She came forward and said eagerly,
'You have news for me? You can help me?'
He nodded, then said reproachfully:
'I found you. Madame, somewhat obtuse upon the train. Perhaps you are too well accustomed to talk of the weather.'
'The weather?' She stared at him, bewildered.
What had he said about weather on the train? Cold? Fog? Snow?
Snow. That was what Olive Betterton had whispered as she lay dying. And she had quoted a silly little jingle – what was it?
Snow, snow, beautiful snow.
You slip on a lump and over you go.
Hilary repeated it falteringly now.
'Exactly – why did you not respond with that immediately as ordered?'
'You don't understand. I have been ill. I was in a plane crash and afterwards in hospital with concussion. It's affected my memory in all sorts of ways. Everything long ago is clear enough, but there are terrible blanks – great gaps.' She let her hands rise to her head. She found it easy enough to go on with a real tremor in her voice. 'You can't understand how frightening that is. I keep feeling that I've forgotten important things – really important things. The more I try to get them back, the less they will come.'
'Yes,' said Laurier, 'the airplane crash was unfortunate.' He spoke in a cold businesslike way. 'It is going to be a question of whether you have the necessary stamina and courage to continue your journey.'
'Of course I'm going to continue my journey,' cried Hilary. 'My husband -' her voice broke.
He smiled, but not a very pleasant smile. Faintly catlike.
'Your husband,' he said, 'is, I understand, awaiting you with eagerness.'
Hilary's voice broke.
'You have no idea,' she said. 'no idea what it's been like these months since he went away.'
'Do you think the British authorities came to a definite conclusion as to what you did or did not know?'
Hilary stretched out her hands with a wide gesture.
'How do I know – how can I tell? They seemed satisfied.'
'All the same…' he stopped.
'I think it quite possible,' said Hilary slowly, 'that I have been followed here. I can't pick out any one particular person but I have had the feeling ever since I left England that I am under observation.'
'Naturally,' said Laurier, coldly. 'We expected no less.'
'I thought I ought to warn you.'
'My dear Mrs. Betterton, we are not children. We understand what we are doing.'
'I'm sorry,' said Hilary, humbly. 'I'm afraid I'm very ignorant.'
'It does not matter if you are ignorant so long as you are obedient.'
'I shall be obedient,' said Hilary in a low voice.
'You were closely watched in England, I have no doubt, ever since the day of your husband's departure. Nevertheless, the message came to you, did it not?'
