with the long lash to it; you know what I mean--and cut her to pieces
with it, riding her down on his pony when she tried to run, and
heading her off and lashing her around the legs and body until she
fell; then he rode on in his damn pink coat to join the ladies at
Mango's Drift, where the meet was, and some Riffs found her bleeding
to death behind the sand-hills. That man held a commission in the
Emperor's own body-guard, and that's what Tangier did for _him_."

Holcombe glanced at Meakim to see if he would verify this, but
Meakim's lips were tightly pressed around his cigar, and his eyes were
half closed.

"And what was done about it?" Holcombe asked, hoarsely.

Carroll laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. "Why, I tell you, and you
whisper it to the next man, and we pretend not to believe it, and call
the Riffs liars. As I say, we're none of us here for our health,
Holcombe, and a public opinion that's manufactured by _déclassée_
women and men who have run off with somebody's money and somebody's
else's wife isn't strong enough to try a man for beating his own
slave."

"But the Moors themselves?" protested Holcombe. "And the Sultan? She's
one of his subjects, isn't she?"

"She's a woman, and women don't count for much in the East, you know;
and as for the Sultan, he's an ignorant black savage. When the English
wanted to blow up those rocks off the western coast, the Sultan
wouldn't let them. He said Allah had placed them there for some good
reason of His own, and it was not for man to interfere with the works