Pan! Pan!....

Return in the morning.

Lunch at hotel.

Receive the congratulations of the Algerians and hire a cart to go and collect the kill.
He armed himself hastily, strapped onto his back the bivouac tent, the pole of which stuck up above his head, and then, held rigid by this contraption, he went down to the street.

He turned sharply to the right and walked to the end of the shopping arcade of Bab-Azoum, where a series of Algerian store-keepers watched him pass, concealed in corners of their dark boutiques like spiders.