‘No one, you see, has ever mentioned that as a possibility.’
‘That, in a place like Tangier, is telling. But if you have doubts, why don’t you ask Renaud? This, at least, is one part of the investigation which he will have researched thoroughly.’
She went away for a moment to refill their glasses and Seymour sat thinking.
‘All right, then,’ he said, when she came back. ‘Let me try another thing on you. It is about Bossu himself. You told me, when I talked to you before, about Casablanca, and I realize now how important that was in the recent history of Morocco. And how important it was to Bossu. But there was another person to whom it was important too: Chantale’s father, Captain de Lissac. And between the two there was considerable animosity.’
‘No,’ said Monique.
‘No?’
‘On Bossu’s part, yes, perhaps. But on de Lissac’s part, no. I think initially he might not even have been aware of Bossu’s existence.’
‘You surprise me.’
‘Bossu always stayed in the background. He was active, yes, but behind the scenes. I think it quite likely that it was only afterwards that the Captain realized who he had been up against. Remember, he had never been to Casablanca before. He knew nothing about Casablanca people or politics, and probably didn’t want to. He was a soldier, and he saw things in clear-cut terms, right or wrong. To him it was a moral issue and not a political one. It was never as complicated as politics.’
‘And so he went straight ahead?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And crossed Bossu. And didn’t even know he had done it. Is that what you are telling me?’
‘Yes. I think so.’
‘Why, then, the animosity? Because from what I have been told there was animosity, and a lot of it.’
‘Yes, there was animosity. Bossu hated him. I don’t know why. It surprised me at the time. Why all this venom, I asked him? Because I quite liked de Lissac. He seemed a decent man. But Bossu nearly bit my head off. He shouted at me — something he did very rarely — and told me I didn’t understand these things, that I didn’t know anything about it. So after that I shut up. But I was surprised, yes, at the intensity of his feelings. I thought it was perhaps because he had slipped up and was angry with himself. But, yes, it was more than that.’
‘I wondered, you see, if there was some past history.’
‘Not that I know of. But there could have been. Look, why don’t you ask old Ricard. You know Ricard? He’s a-’
‘Yes, I know him.’
‘Well, he’s an old gossip but he’s been around a long time and there’s little about Tangier that he doesn’t know. Why don’t you have a word with him?’
But first there was something else he had to do. He tried the barracks but they told him that de Grassac, along with most of the officers, was out training. Seymour was impressed by this but then learned that what the training was was for the pig-sticking that Saturday. So he went over to the Tent.
The soldiers had just got back from their training and were seeing to their horses. Most of them were watching a long line of horses that were going past the Tent, escorted by some of Musa’s white-gowned riders and by Musa himself.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ said Millet, who was standing beside Seymour. ‘I will say this for Musa, he breeds some of the best.’
‘They’re mounts for the army, are they?’
‘I wish they were. But I don’t think so.’
Instead of entering the roped-off enclosure at the back of the Tent, the horses went on past and stopped at a point some distance away.
‘They’re for someone else,’ said Millet. He laughed. ‘Who is probably paying more.’
Several of the officers had left their horses to study them. One of the officers strode across to Musa.
‘Who are those for, Sheikh Musa? I don’t suppose we could persuade you to think of the army?’
‘I’m delivering some to you tomorrow.’
‘They won’t be as good as these, though, will they?’
Musa looked the horses over.
‘These are good,’ he said with pride.
‘A special price, too, I’ll bet!’ said someone.
‘Sheikh Musa, I’d pay a special price. I’d be prepared to go over the odds for one of these. Privately, never mind the army.’
Sheikh Musa patted him on the arm.
‘I’ll look one out for you. Next week, when I’m over. But these are all bespoke.’
He patted the officer again.
‘You’ve got an eye for a horse, Vibert, I know that,’ he said. ‘I’ll look one out for you.’
‘Where are they going?’ asked Seymour.
‘Down south, probably,’ said Millet. ‘Moulay would give his right arm for some of these.’
Sheikh Musa overheard and turned on him fiercely.
‘They’re not going to Moulay!’ he said furiously.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, Sheikh Musa!’ said Millet hastily.
‘You only give a good horse to a good man!’ said Musa severely.
‘Right!’ said Millet. ‘I’m with you all the way on that. You know that.’
‘Well, I suppose I do,’ said Musa. ‘I just don’t like it to be thought-’
‘We don’t!’ said Millet quickly. ‘We really don’t. When I said south, I wasn’t thinking of Moulay.’ He turned to Seymour, anxious to deflect Musa’s wrath. ‘You’ve heard about Moulay, have you?’
‘The Sultan’s half-brother?’
‘By a slave girl!’ grunted Musa. ‘Not by a wife. And it shows.’
‘Causing trouble, I hear.’
‘It’s not the trouble he’s causing now,’ said Millet. ‘The army can contain that. It’s the trouble he might cause in the future. Isn’t that right, Sheikh Musa?’
‘If the French have their way.’
‘Oh, come, Sheikh Musa! I don’t think they like him any more than we do.’
‘Then why are they cosying up to him?’
‘But are they?’
‘Yes,’ said Musa shortly. ‘They are.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Millet, backing off hastily. ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
‘The mistake they’re making,’ said Musa, ‘is changing the man they’re backing. They ought to stick with the one they’ve got. He’s no good, I agree, but you can’t be changing all the time. There’s got to be some consistency somewhere.’
‘You don’t supply mounts to caravans going down south, Sheikh Musa, do you?’ asked Seymour.
‘I used to. But not since Moulay got down there. Why do you ask?’
Seymour decided to risk it.
‘I’m still on Bossu,’ he said. ‘And I think Bossu made several trips to the south. Taking money. For which he would need mounts.’
‘Camels,’ said Sheikh Musa. ‘Not horses.’
‘He would have needed a bodyguard, too.’
He found Sheikh Musa studying him.
‘Taking money,’ said Sheikh Musa, ‘to Moulay. Is that right?’
‘I suspect so.’
‘Well, not on my horses.’ He was quiet for a moment or two. Then he said: ‘You’ve found that out, have you?’
‘I think so. I’m trying to confirm it.’
‘You don’t need to confirm it,’ said Sheikh Musa. ‘I’m telling you.’
‘If you say so, Sheikh Musa,’ said Seymour, ‘that has weight for me.’
Musa continued to study him, then grunted.
‘I would have tried to see he didn’t get horses,’ he said. ‘Or camels, for that matter. But there are too many people in the game. Everyone’s running things down south. He would have got them somehow or other. The only way to stop someone like Bossu is the way someone did stop him.’
He laughed.
‘You’re still looking for the person who did it, are you? Well, don’t look too hard. Whoever did it, did a good job.’
Among Musa’s white-gowned men was the tall Arab, Ahmet, whom he had seen convoying horses through the middle of Tangier with Millet. He went across to him. ‘Are you going to be busy again on Saturday, Ahmet?’ There was a flash of white teeth.
‘As always when there is a pig-sticking.’
‘First, the pigs, and then the hunt. Is that right?’
‘That’s right,’ Ahmet agreed.
‘When you ride beside the hunt, keeping an eye open for those who fall, is there somebody doing the same on the other side of the hunt?’