Publisher's Synopsis
It was two hours, after the muezzin had called to evening prayer, and night had canopied Tangier with a million stars. In the little Sok, the bread-sellers, sat cross-legged behind their wares, their candles burning steadily, for there was not so much as, the whisper of a wind blowing. The monotonous strumming of a guitar from a Moorish cafe, the agonised barlak! of abelated donkey-driver bringing his charge down the steep streets which lead to the bigbazaar, the shuffle of bare feet on Tangier's cobbles, and the distant hush-hush of the rollersbreaking upon the amber shore-these were the only sounds which the night held.John Maxell sat outside the Continental Cafe, in the condition of bodily content which a good dinner induces. Mental content should have accompanied such a condition, but even the memory of a perfect dinner could not wholly obliterate a certain uneasiness of mind. He had been uneasy when he came to Tangier, and his journey through France and Spain had beenaccompanied by certain apprehensions and doubts which Cartwright had by no means dispelled. Rather, by his jovial evasions, his cheery optimism, and at times his irritable outbreaks of temper, he had given the eminent King's Counsel further cause for disquiet.
