‘Look, Idris, it’s not his territory, is it? He came from outside. So how did he know about it? A new hotel that wasn’t even on his territory? The day after they moved in? Someone tipped him off, Idris, and I want to find out who it was.’
‘Well, I’m with you there, Mustapha. But — couldn’t it have been the police who tipped them off? Someone said it was the police.’
‘But, Idris, again: it was our territory. The police know that as well as we do. Would they have let anyone else in on it? Would they?’
‘Well, no…’
‘And look at another thing: everyone in the quarter knows Chantale and her mother. You could say they were our people. Everyone knows that. Everyone here, that is. And they wouldn’t like it. Our people! So they had to go outside the quarter to get someone to do it. Get someone like Ali Khadr, who wouldn’t know any better. People here wouldn’t like it. The police know that as well as anybody. I’m not saying that someone in the police might not have tipped them off, maybe told them that they’d moved in, that the moment was ripe. Although if they did, they’d do well to keep quiet about it. So you see, Idris, I’m not so stupid after all. There’s someone behind this, and I want to find out who it is. That’s why I was waiting!’
‘Mustapha, you are a deep thinker!’ said Idris in admiration.
‘I am. And when I find out who set up the attack on the hotel, I’m going to cut their bloody balls off!’
‘Just a minute,’ said Seymour. ‘What’s this about a hotel?’
‘The Miramar. The one Chantale and her mother run.’
‘And what’s this about an attack on it?’
‘The day they moved in. The first day! Wrecked the place. Really did it over. It was shocking. My wife went round to give a hand in cleaning it up, and when she got back to me, she was going through the roof. “Call yourself a man?” she said. “And you let this sort of thing go on? In our quarter? Chantale and her mother. What sort of man are you?” I tell you, Idris, the beans weren’t exactly good that night!’
‘There was an attack on the Hotel Miramar? The night Chantale and her mother moved in?’
‘That’s right.’
‘It sounds like a welcome party,’ said Seymour.
‘You know about welcome parties?’
‘We have that sort of thing in England, too.’
‘In England!’
Mustapha was impressed.
‘They do it there, too?’
‘Yes.’
Mustapha turned to Idris.
‘There you are! It goes on all over the world. I’ve always said that. It’s going global, I’ve always said.’
‘Yes,’ said Seymour, ‘you’d be all right in England.’
(What was he saying?)
‘But I think you’d better stay here,’ he said hurriedly.
Ahead of him he saw a face he recognized.
‘Dr Meunier!’
‘Monsieur Seymour!’
Meunier stopped, and removed his hat, then mopped his brow.
‘Hot today, isn’t it? And getting hotter!’
‘You’ve been on an errand of mercy?’
‘You could call it that. I’ve been seeing old Ricard. You know Ricard? You may have seen him at the pig-sticking. Although you shouldn’t have. One of these days he’ll fall off and kill himself. Probably soon. Which would be a mercy for Suzanne.’
‘His wife?’
‘His daughter. Who looks after him lovingly. And with more patience than I could manage.’
He looked around.
‘Fancy a drink?’
They went into a bar.
‘A pastis, I think. With plenty of cold water. One for you, too?’
They sat down at a little table in the corner and sipped their drinks. Seymour had been going to go for beer but this was a less heavy alternative.
‘So how are you getting on with your particular chasse?’ asked Meunier.
‘Less exciting than the pig-sticking,’ said Seymour, ‘and proceeding more slowly.’
‘A lot of bother,’ said Meunier, ‘and to what purpose? People come and go, often quite quickly out here. Does it make a lot of difference in the end? Of course, as a doctor, I’m biased. I see too much of it.’
‘Do you treat the military casualties, too?’
‘Not in the field. They have their own doctors. But back here in Tangier. Usually for venereal diseases.’
‘I should think that’s likely to be a long job. Maybe like my job?’
‘At least we both get paid for the work we do,’ said Meunier.
They drank to that.
‘Tell me,’ said Seymour, putting down his glass, ‘are you a pig-sticker yourself?’
‘I was once,’ said Meunier, ‘but gave it up while the going was still manageable. Before I got too old. Unlike that old idiot, Ricard.’
‘A veteran of the cause, is he?’
‘You could say that. Rides every meet. And, actually, he’s not too bad. Or, at least, he wasn’t in his time. Now, of course, he’s rather slower. But that’s partly because Suzanne will only let him ride on a sensible old horse, which keeps him out of trouble. Fortunately it also keeps him out of the way of everyone else. “It’s not you I’m bothered about, Ricard,” I say. “It’s everyone else.” But, he says, they’d be all right if only he had a better horse! “Don’t, for God’s sake, let him get one,” I say to Suzanne. Just been saying it, in fact.’
‘You know,’ said Seymour, ‘I’ve been wondering about that. About the way the hunt goes. From what I could see, it spreads out a lot.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘The better riders push on, the weaker drop behind.’
‘Inevitably.’
‘And, presumably, the same ones are always lagging behind?’
‘I don’t think they mind that too much. People like Leblanc and Digoin are just there for the ride. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You get the benefit of the exercise, enjoy the air, the desert, sand, if you like that sort of thing.’
‘So you find the same people taking up the rear each time? People like Digoin and Leblanc — oh, and, presumably Monsieur Ricard, too?’
‘Yes. The same old stragglers. I won’t mind confessing, though, that it’s with a certain sense of relief that I see them come in each time. But they do!’
Seymour went to call on Macfarlane. He arrived just as Sheikh Musa was coming out of the Consul’s office.
‘I’m sorry, Musa,’ Macfarlane was saying, ‘but there’s not much that I can do.’
‘But there is; you’re Chairman of the committee, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but this doesn’t come within the committee’s brief.’
‘Then why are you authorizing it?’
‘We’re not authorizing it. We’re just sketching out the kind of arrangements that the Tangier zone will need to put in place for this to happen.’
Musa snorted.
‘That’s just legalistic quibbling!’ he said. ‘You know that once the committee has indicated the nature of the arrangements that will be likely, everyone will be shovelling things that way: money, guns, everything that is making Moulay stronger.’
‘Look, I don’t like it any more than you do. The man is just a bandit. But there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘He’s getting stronger all the time.’
‘Yes, I know. But he’s outside the projected zone and therefore nothing to do with me or the committee. He doesn’t exist as far as we are concerned.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! If you go ahead with these “arrangements”-’
‘Possibility of. We’re just sketching out the possibilities, that’s all.’
‘-you’ll have to make them with somebody. And that will be him.’
‘We’re not making arrangements with anybody. That comes later.’
‘Building a railway line?’
‘Making it possible to build a railway line. Once the zone has been declared. There will need to be a railway line, Musa, connecting Tangier with the south. All my committee is doing, Musa, is outlining the legal powers the Tangier council would need to be given for it to be able to conclude arrangements for such a railway to be built.’
‘And make Moulay even stronger!’
‘I agreed with you, Musa, it probably would. But that’s not my concern. I have to look at things narrowly from the point of view of Tangier.’