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«What difference would that make?» Dyar demanded, not so much because he believed it did not matter, as because he was curious to know exactly what his situation was up here.

«The Spaniards. They would come to the house».

«Well, let ’em come. What difference would it make?» He was determined to see the thing through, and it was a good opportunity. «I haven’t done anything. Why should they take the trouble to come looking for me?» He watched Thami’s face closely.

«Maybe they wouldn’t hurt you when you show them you got an American passport». Thami spoke aloud now. «Me, I’d be in the jail right away. You have to have a visa to get here, my friend. And then they’d say: How did you get in? Don’t you worry. They’d know you were coming in by a boat. And then they’d say: Where is the boat? And whose boat? And worst: Why did you come by a boat? Why didn’t you come by the frontera like everybody else? Then they talk on the telephone to Tangier and try to know why from the police there…» He paused, looking questioningly at Dyar, who said: «So what?» still studying Thami’s eyes intently.

«So what?» said Thami weakly, smiling. «How do I know so what? I know you said you will give me five thousand pesetas to take you here, and so I do it because I know Americans keep their word. And so you want to get here very much. How do I know why?» He smiled again, a smile he doubtless felt to be disarming, but which to Dyar’s way of thinking was the very essence of Oriental deviousness and cunning.

Dyar grunted, got up, thinking: «From now on I’m going to watch every move you make». As Thami rose to his feet he was still explaining about the Spanish police and their insistence upon getting all possible information about foreigners who visited the Protectorate. His words included a warning never to stand outside the house in the daytime, and never — it went without saying — to set foot inside the village at any hour of the day or night. As they went along he embroidered on the probable consequences to Dyar of allowing himself to be seen by anyone at all, in the end making everything sound so absurdly dangerous that a wave of fear swept over his listener — not fear that what Thami said might be true, for he did not believe all these variations on catastrophe for an instant, but a fear born of having asked himself only once: «Why is he saying all this? Why is he so excited about nobody’s seeing me?» For him the answer was to be found, of course, at the limits of Thami’s infamy. It was merely a question of knowing how far the man was prepared to go, or rather, since he was an Arab, how far he would be able to go. And the answer at this point was, thought Dyar: he will go as far as I let him go. So I give him no chance. Vigilance was easy enough; the difficulty lay in disguising it. The other must not suspect that he suspected. Thami was already playing the idiot; he too would be guileless, he would encourage Thami to think himself the cleverer, so that his actions might be less cautious, his decisions less hidden. One excellent protective measure, it seemed to him, would be to go to the village and then tell Thami about it. That would let him know that he was not afraid of being seen, thus depriving Thami of one advantage he seemed to feel he had over him. «And then he’d think twice before pulling anything too rough if he realized people knew I had been up here with him,» he reasoned.

«Well,» he said reluctantly, «I’m going to have a fine time up here. I can see that. You down in the town all the time and me sitting on my ass up here on the side of a mountain».

«What you mean, all the time? How many days do you Want to stay? I have to go to Tangier. My boat. That Jilali’s no good. I know him. He’s going to sell it to somebody else. You don’t care. It’s not your boat» —

«Don’t start in again,» said Dyar. But Thami launched into a lengthy monologue which ended where it had been meant to end, on the subject of how many pesetas a day Dyar was willing to pay him for his presence at Agla.

«Maybe I want him here and maybe I don’t,» he thought. It would depend on what he found and learned in the town. Plans had to be made carefully, and they might easily include the necessity of having Thami take him somewhere else. «But the quicker I can get rid of him the better». That much was certain.

Was this haggling, genuine enough in appearance, merely a part of Thami’s game, intended to dull whatever suspicion he might have, replacing it with a sense of security which would make him careless? He did not know; he thought so. In any case, he must seem to take it very seriously.

«D’you think I’m made of money?» he said with simulated ill-humor, but in such a tone that Thami might feel that the money eventually would be forthcoming. The other did not answer.

There was an olive grove covering the steep side hill that had to be gone through, a rushing stream to cross, and a slight rise to climb before one reached the house. It was built out on a flat shelf of rock whose base curved downward to rest against the mountainside astonishingly far below.

«There’s the house,» said Thami.

It’s a fort, thought Dyar, seeing the little structure crouching there atop its crazy pillar. Its thick earthen walls once had been partially whitewashed, and its steep roof, thatched in terraces, looked like a flounced petticoat of straw. The path led up, around, and out onto the promontory where the ground was bare save for a few overgrown bushes. There were no windows, but there was a patchwork door with a homemade lock, to fit which Thami now pulled from his pocket a heavy key as long as his hand.

«This is the jumping-off place all right,» said Dyar, stepping to the edge and peering down. Below, the valley had prepared itself for night. He had the feeling that no light could pierce the profound gloom in which the lower mountainside was buried, no sound change the distant, impassive murmur of water, which, although scarcely audible, somehow managed to fill the entire air. After struggling a moment with the lock Thami succeeded in getting the door open. As Dyar walked toward the house he noticed the deep troughs dug in the earth by the rain that had run from the overhanging eaves; it still dripped here and there, an intimate sound in the middle of the encompassing solitude — almost with an overtone of welcome, as if the mere existence of the house offered a possibility of relief from the vast melancholy grayness of the dying afternoon.

At least, he thought, as he stepped inside into the dark room that smelled like a hayloft, this will give me a chance to catch my breath. It might be only for a day or two, but it provided a place to lie down.

Thami opened a door on the other side of the room and the daylight came in from a tiny patio filled with broken crates and refuse. «There’s another room there,» he said with an air of satisfaction. «And a kitchen, too».

Surprisingly, the earth floor was dry. There was no furniture, but a clean straw mat covered almost half the floor space. Dyar threw himself down and lay with his head propped against the wall. «Don’t say kitchen to me unless you’ve got something in it. When are we going to eat? That’s all I want to know».

Thami laughed. «You want to sleep? I’m going now to the house of my wife’s family and get candles and food. You sleep».

«The hell with the candles, chum. You get that food».

Thami looked slightly scandalized. «Oh, no,» he said with great seriousness and an air of faint reproof. «You can’t eat without candles. That’s no good».

«Bring whatever you like». He could feel himself falling asleep even as he said it. «Just bring food too». He slipped his fingers through the handle of the brief case and laid it over his chest. Thami stepped out, closed the door and locked it behind him. There was the sound of his footsteps, and then only the occasional falling of a drop of water from the roof outside. Then there was nothing.