It was pure ill fortune that the steel breech of Krormonn’s rifle crashed against the ironwork. The resulting sound was like a ring from an untuned bell. It seemed to reverberate through the night.
Rex hissed: “Jeeze—keep quiet! There’s bound to be a few Arabs around!”
Pete had got to the top of the railings. Slowly, he followed Rex’s procedure. As he dropped, Rex caught him round the waist and helped to break the impact.
They looked towards Krormonn, who was huddled on the ground.
Pete said to him impatiently: “Push the Piets through to us… hurry.”
The German did not move.
Rex muttered a single and comprehensive word under his breath. He knew what had happened. Both of them knew. In his fall, Krormonn must have knocked his head against the rails—or perhaps against his rifle. Anyway, judging by his heavy breathing, he had been rendered unconscious.
And the Piets, inside the rails, were several inches out of reach. Rex, who was the taller, tested with his arm fully extended and confirmed the fact.
They gazed at each other through the darkness. Both were in a state of baffled fury.
For one of them to go back and push the weapons through himself would be pointless, for without Krormonn’s help he would not be able to make the return climb. And to return to Monclaire with a request for the help of another sentry would mean intolerable delay. And danger, too. For whoever remained lurking outside the back of the barracks would be an immediate object of curiosity to any passing Touaregs.
It was Pete who remembered the spare magazines, which were still inside their robes. He pulled one out and showed it to Rex.
Rex understood. He grabbed the long piece of hollowed metal. Holding it, he again stretched his hand inside the railings. The artificial extension of reach was more than enough. The tip of the magazine passed well beyond the Piets.
By pressing the magazine on the trigger guards, Rex was able to ease each weapon in turn towards him. Pete pulled them through the bars. And they were quickly concealed again beneath their burnouses.
But the incident had wasted several minutes. And it had done nothing to improve their confidence.
The agreed plan was first to strike well beyond the barracks and approach the hotel from the far side. By this means they hoped to reduce, if not eliminate, the chances of arousing suspicion. Certainly they would have little prospect of getting into the hotel if they were seen to emerge from the quiet alley at the rear of the barracks, and then make a direct and ostentatious trek towards the Afrique’s main entrance.
First their route took them down a long and foul smelling street where Sadazi’s mule and camel ostlers plied their trade. On either side were the tall doors of the stables. And from within came a discordant symphony of bestial discontent.
One stable door had been forced open, and a flickering oil lamp revealed that it was empty, save for a Bormone Arab who lay sprawled on the straw. Blood was oozing from his forehead. Rex and Pete hesitated for a moment, then moved on. Obviously, the thieves and the thugs were taking full advantage of the chaos in the town. But there was no time to aid those who had been attacked and robbed by them.
They emerged into the European market place.
This was distinct from the market in the native quarter only because of its locality and because most of the customers were whites. The same unsavoury junk was retailed by the shrewd to the stupid.
The place was a shambles.
Flimsy wood stalls had been overturned and smashed and their stock looted. The cobbled square was strewn with rejected foodstuffs, torn pieces of clothing material, shattered souvenirs. And once Rex and Pete stumbled over the crushed body of an Arab trader who had certainly died while trying to defend his stock.
A few gangs of Touareg youths were lurking round the place, in the hope of finding something of value. That market place was a perfect example of what always happened in any community when the forces of law are suddenly rendered helpless.
Rex and Pete had agreed to speak as little as possible. This was a basic precaution. Both had a basic smattering of several Arabic dialects, but they were not fluent enough to carry on any sustained and useful conversation. And to talk in English—unless compelled to do so—was out of the question. So they walked in silence, relieved that the marauders took no particular interest m them. The darkness—although it was now being relieved a little by the ascendant stars—was a comforting cloak.
Leaving the market place they skirted the west extremity of Rue St. Jean. Here a few of the unclaimed casualties of the morning riots still lay on the ground. Rats, long, lean and repulsive, were darting and gliding around them, making the most of the nocturnal feast.
Rex touched Pete’s wrist. They stopped. They had completed a half-circle, and in the distance the stars showed up the indistinct mass of the barracks. To the right of the barracks they saw, slightly more plainly, the front of the Hotel Afrique.
And between them and the hotel were Touaregs.
The Touaregs had surrounded the hotel, and they were numbered now in thousands. Families of them had lit fires for comfort against the gathering winds from the Atlas Mountains, and were squatting round the flames. Groups of young warriors—many armed with scimitars and some with muskets or equally ancient pistols—were keeping an unblinking watch on the barrack gates.
Rex looked round. No one was near enough to hear, so he whispered: “It’s goin’ to be one helluva job to sneak into the hotel.”
Pete shook his head.
“We’ll never sneak in. Our only chance is to bluff it out. We’ll have to walk in as if we owned the place.”
“Yeah? But we’re bound to be stopped, and when they start asking questions we aren’t goin’ to sound so good.”
Pete gave a taut smile.
“My dear chap, don’t be so pessimistic. This was your idea. Or have you forgotten?”
Rex whispered something distinctly unflattering. But they still hesitated before attempting to move through the deep cordon.
In that moment they both knew fear. And neither was ashamed of the fact.
They knew that almost all men experienced that chilling human emotion—except, perhaps, a few fools. And it served a vital purpose. Fear was a natural brake against rash and useless action. Its only connection with cowardice lay in the fact that cowards were dominated by it, men of courage controlled and used it.
Eventually, Pete said: “Well, we can’t stand here all night…”
They moved into the deep circle of Arabs.
At first, it was unexpectedly easy. They edged casually through the crush and no one took any particular notice of them. There was no reason why anyone should. Their robes, their darkened skins, made them appear much the same as thousands of others there.
They were almost through the circle when they saw that a space had been cleared directly in m front of the hotel entrance. It was about fifteen yards deep and twice as long. Several armed Touaregs kept the crowd from moving on to it. And a dozen other Touaregs were standing at each side of the doorway.
Obviously, they were there to ensure that no one entered or left the building without authority.
Rex glanced desperately at Pete. He decided to risk other whispered conversation, although the nearest Arabs were almost within arm’s reach.
Moving his head close to Pete’s, he hissed. “We’ll have to rush the place. One burst with a Piet’ll fix that lot, and we ought to be able to get into the cellars before anyone knows what’s happened.”