The sunshine dripped between the long fingers of the palm
leaves, to trail in a lacy pattern along the yellow paths, and the sound
of the running water was sweet.
It was in this garden that the Caid gave his guests the three cups of
coffee each, followed by the mint-flavoured tea which Nevill had
prophesied. And when they had admired a tame gazelle which nibbled cakes
of almond and honey from their hands, the Caid insisted on presenting it
to his good friend, Monsieur Caird.
Over the cups of _cafe maure_, they talked of Captain Cassim ben Halim,
but their host could or would tell them nothing beyond the fact that Ben
Halim had once lived for a little while not far from Bou-Saada. He had
inherited from his father a country house, about fifty kilometres
distant, but he had never stayed there until after retiring from the
army, and selling his place in Algiers. Then he had spent a few months
in the country. The Caid had met him long ago in Algiers, but had not
seen him since. Ben Halim had been ill, and had led a retired life in
the country, receiving no one. Afterward he had gone away, out of
Algeria. It was said that he had died abroad a little later. Of that,
the Caid was not certain; but in any case the house on the hill was now
in the possession of the Caid of Ain Dehdra, Sidi Elaid ben Sliman, a
distant cousin of Ben Halim, said to be his only living relative.
Then their host went on to describe the house with the white wall, which
looked down upon a cemetery and a village.
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