“A large cloud went over the face of the moon. A gust of wind struck my face. Suddenly the night had changed. The moon looked forth again, and was again obscured. A second gust struck me like a blow, and my face was stung by a multitude of sand grains. I heard steps behind me in the brick passage, turned swiftly, and saw the landlord. “‘I must shut the door, m’sieu,’ he said. ‘There’s a bad sandstorm coming up.’ “As he spoke the wind roared, and over the camel market a thick fog seemed to fall abruptly. It was a sheet of sand from the surrounding dunes. I threw away my cigar, stepped into the passage, and the landlord banged the door, and drove home the heavy bolts. “Then I went to Marnier’s room, and knocked. I felt sure, but I thought I would make sure before going to my room. “No answer. “I knocked again loudly. “Again no answer. “Then I turned the handle, and entered. “The room was empty. I glanced round quickly. The small window was open. All the windows of the inn were barred, but, as I learned later, a bar in Marnier’s had been broken, and was not yet replaced when we arrived at Beni-Kouidar. In consequence of this it was possible to squeeze through into the arcade outside. This was what Marnier had done. My precise, gentlemanly, reserved, and methodical acquaintance had deliberately given me the slip by sneaking out of a window like a schoolboy, and creeping round the edge of the inn to the _fosse_ that lay in the shadow of the sand dunes. As I realised this I realised his danger. “I ran to my room, fetched my revolver, slipped it into my pocket, and hurried to the front door. The landlord heard me trying to undo the bolts, and came out protesting. “‘M’sieu cannot go out into the storm.’ “‘I must.’ “‘But m’sieu does not know what Beni-Kouidar is like when the sand is blown on the wind. It is _enfer_. Besides, it is not safe. In the darkness m’sieu may receive a _mauvais coup_.’ “‘Make haste, please, and open the door. I am going to fetch my friend.’ “He pulled the bolts, grumbling and swearing, and I went out into _enfer_. For he was right. A sandstorm at night in Beni-Kouidar is hell. “Luckily, Safti joined me mysteriously from the deuce knows where, and we staggered to the dancing-house somehow, and struggled in, blinded, our faces scored, our clothes heavy with sand, our pockets, our very boots, weighed down with it. “The tomtoms were roaring, the pipe was yelling, blown by the frantic demon with his hood full of latch keys, the impassible, bearded faces were watching the painted women who, in their red garments and their golden crowns, promenaded down the earthen floor, between the divans, fluttering their dyed fingers, smiling grotesquely like idols, bending forward their greasy foreheads to receive the tribute of their admirers. “I ran my eyes swiftly over the mob. Marnier was not in it. I pushed my way towards the doorway on the left which gave on to the court of the dancers. “Safti caught hold of my arm.