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Show "Nothing, monsieur. Only-only Benchaillal often goes into the desert by night. But monsieur is in bedmonsieur sleeps and does not see him go." A deep flush of red went over Sir Claude's brown face. He realized in that moment that this Arab knew much more, certainly, than he did. And yet he knew enough, surely! He knew that when he returned to the inn his wife's room was empty. He knew that she crept back to the inn with a white, terrified face when the was up. He knew that when she ~'!!>.'!"~··~ she must have been asleep when the mules came in from the desert she lied to him. All this he knew. But a terrible curiosity was awake in with a terrible anger, a terrible sense of wrong, and a terrible contempt. He had felt it all day, this desire to know more, but he had resisted it. And he had meant to resist it always. He had meant to-but now! "Aehmed," he said, staring straight before him between the mules' ears at the stony track. " Monsieur." "Why should- why should Benchaillal go into the desert at night alone? What does he go for? Has he friends in the village?" "Monsieur, he has friends. does not go to the village." Achmed was silent for a moment. Then he added, slowly : "And he does not go alone." "Whom does he go with?" said Sir Claude, after a pause of hesitation, and in an uncertain voice. "But surely monsieur knows!" Achmed said, innocently. "If anybody should know with whom Benchaillal walks at night, it would be monsieur.'' "Answer my question, ,,, |