Chapter 3They left the crowded streets behind and started to climb a small hill behind the town on which Melina could see that there was a white villa surrounded by a high wall.
Bing pointed to it with his finger.
“Villa Harris!” he said. “Built by an Englishman who was a correspondent of The Times. He is dead now and the Moroccans have made it one of the landmarks of the town and tourists are taken out to look at it, from the outside of course.”
“No one is allowed in?” Melina asked, disappointed.
Bing shook his head.
“You’re lucky if you can get inside any of the buildings in Tangier once they are owned by the natives,” he said. “They rather object to being stared at, and who doesn’t?”
“I should like to go inside a real Moroccan house,” Melina said.
Bing did not answer. He was inte
