Slowly, very slowly, she parted her lips. Her voice was quiet, but strong.
“I am Madame Tovak—a widow.”
Mondaire hesitated. Then he said softly: “I am sorry, madame. We are all sorry. And I am under orders to escort you to my commanding officer so that he may explain…”
“Will explanations bring my husband back?”
“It would be better if you understood all that happened.”
“I know all that happened. And I know that you are an officer of the army that murdered him. An army of barbarians, monsieur. So please tell your commanding officer that I shall not see him and neither shall I have anything to do with any other member of the Legion.”
The words came louder and faster. They were impelled by emotion. The emotion of unadulterated hate.
Monclaire stroked his small moustache. The hand that did so shook with anger, which he controlled with difficulty.
“You are making a mistake, madame. I repeat—I must ask you to come with us. It is, in any case, most undesirable for you to be in this place. I will not ask how you came to arrive here, but you must leave it.”
“And if I refuse?”
“If you refuse, we shall be compelled to take you by force.”
She moved her mouth in a grim caricature of a smile.
“So it seems that the Legion also abducts women!”
“Madame! I—”
“You are very brave, monsieur capitaine! You and all the other legionnaires. It must need great courage for you to risk using force against one woman. I congratulate you!”
A pulse started to twitch at the side of Monclaire’s neck. He was aware of a mass of seething uncertainties. Only a few minutes previously, he had doubted whether the woman would be found at all. And if she was found, he had expected her to be grateful for the fact. This situation was beyond any of his calculations.
“For the last time, madame…”
Adaa interrupted. Adaa had been watching and listening while retaining his aura of composed confidence. Now he walked heavily up to Monclaire and piped: “I do not think the capitaine has any power to take the lady away against her will. She has not committed any offence, so she must be allowed her freedom.”
Monclaire turned and faced Adaa. He stared back into the blank, dead eyes.
“You had better be quiet, Adaa. Already you are in enough trouble. The Bureau Arabe may wish to question you about this.”
Annice raised her thin eyebrows. She said: “It is no use trying to bully us. Adaa has done nothing, either, except give me shelter. You cannot remove me from his home, or punish him for offering me hospitality.”
“While you are in this area, madame, your safety is the concern of the Legion, acting on behalf of the government of France. We are empowered to take any necessary measures for your protection.”
“But I am in no danger. There has been no threat of danger. If you touch me capitaine, the result could be very serious. Remember I am a foreign national holding a passport. The matter would be taken up with the French Colonial Department.”
Monclaire breathed heavily. He had to acknowledge the truth of her words. There was no fragment of evidence that would justify her removal from the Arab’s house… unless…
He glanced towards Rex.
“Legionnaire Tyle.”
Rex clicked to attention.
“Capitaine.”
“Did Annice Tovak make threats against France and the Legion when you saw her in the wineshop?”
Rex looked at her before replying. She was watching him. And there was now a new expression on her face. An expression that Rex had not seen before. It was one which seemed to blend contempt with sympathy. Just as free humanity might look upon a willing slave. In that second he almost hated her.
“She said that the Legion was blood on the doorstep of France, mon capitaine. And that North Africans ought to rid themselves of the Legion…”
It was Monclaire’s turn to offer a humourless smile.
He said to her: “You understand, madame. You have been inciting disaffection among French subjects. I will have to hold you for an inquiry.”
Her hands dropped slowly from her hip. Her body became taut.
But her reaction was unexpected.
She seemed to surrender. As though accepting the inevitable, she walked towards the door. It was a stately walk. Monclaire was a pace behind her, with the legionnaires following.
It was when they emerged into Rue St. Jean that they glimpsed the gathering storm.
A mumbling roar came from both ends of the street. It surged and faded like wind in the sand. It rose from the Arab crowds—and it was caused by the sight of Annice. Her outburst in the wineshop had had the expected effect. Already she held the status of a martyr in the native quarter.
And she exploited the situation. She raised her hands very slightly, in a gesture of helpless supplication. Then she smiled. It was a gentle, heroic smile, and it was turned full on the Arabs.
Watching her, Rex mumbled: “The bitch—the beautiful bitch! She’s gonna make more trouble…”
It certainly seemed so. For a new roar of sympathy and indignation burst from the crowds. This time it was louder. It lasted longer.
Then there was a sudden surge forward. At each end of the street, the crowds—now becoming a mob—forced back the sentries, who would otherwise have been engulfed. But after the first rush, the advance became more cautious. The Arabs were not yet fully inflamed and none wanted to be the first to risk a Lebel bullet.
Monclaire gave a hand signal. The complete section—except for the four legionnaires who were struggling helplessly with the Arabs—formed a double file.
Pete again found himself next to Rex. And Pete said dryly: “Perhaps it would have been better if you hadn’t found the woman. This is like being crushed in a vice.”
It was precisely what it did look like. From each side the Arabs were advancing like a solid wall.
Rex said: “It’ll be okay. The captain’ll handle this.”
But at that moment, Monclaire was experiencing all the loneliness of command. Others need not worry about decisions. He was there to take them. Others could express their fears. He could not. He must always appear calm and confident. He had no one to turn to for support. Yet, his entire career could be in the balance. It was a serious matter for an officer to get himself mixed up in large-scale civil disturbances. If he were to extricate himself without too much trouble, then that would be accepted as his duty. If he made the slightest error, then there would be an enquiry, and he might be dismissed from the Legion.
Monclaire was aware of this as he appraised the position. But the conscious part of his brain was lifting the possibilities from the impossibilities.
Impossible to march away with the woman immediately. Surrounded by the mob, the legionnaires would be completely unable to defend themselves or guard their prisoner.
Possible to hold the mob off until large contingents from the barracks came to clear the streets. In the barracks, they must already be aware that trouble was threatening, for the noise created by the Arabs would be quite audible.
The first move, therefore, was to re-deploy.
He shouted an order. One file marched forward until within ten yards of the Arabs. Then it wheeled to the right and spread out in open order across the road.
A second order, and the remaining file turned about and completed the same manoeuvre at the other end of Rue St. Jean.
The four sweating and grateful sentries were detached and fell in with their respective files.
The new deployment meant that the legionnaires were standing back to back with about twenty yards between them, and each file was facing the Arabs.