The old man said that he rejoiced to serve the
friend of his friends, and would look forward to seeing me during our
stay. Then we followed into an ill-seeming lane, now growing dark with the
fall of evening.
We turned down an alley more muddy than the one just left behind, passed
under an arch by a fruit stall with a covering of tattered palmetto,
caught a brief glimpse of a mosque minaret, and heard the mueddin calling
the Faithful to evening prayer. In the shadow of the mosque, at the corner
of the high-walled lane, there was a heavy metal-studded door. The steward
thrust a key into its lock, turned it, and we passed down a passage into
an open patio. It was a silent place, beyond the reach of the street
echoes; there were four rooms built round the patio on the ground floor,
and three or four above. One side of the tower of the minaret was visible
from the courtyard, but apart from that the place was nowhere overlooked.
To be sure, it was very dirty, but I had an idea that the steward had
brought his men out for business, not for an evening stroll, so I bade
Salam assure him that this place, known to the Marrakshis as Dar al
Kasdir,[19] would serve our purposes.
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