Well, I must have got to the terrace about four. Saw him then. Nodded to him. Sat down. Had tea. Noticed he was a bit fidgety. Then when I next looked up he had gone. Say about twenty minutes. Between twenty past four and half past four.
But you didnt actually see him go?
No.
You didnt see him go down the steps, for instance?
No. Dont think he would have gone down the steps. Not by himself. A bit too shaky on his pins.
With someone helping him?
Oh, he could have managed it then, all right.
But you didnt see anyone?
Helping him? No.
Mr Colthorpe Hartley rubbed his chin and stared thoughtfully into space. A suffragi hurried past with a tray of coffee. The aroma came strongly across the room.
Saw someone else, though, he said suddenly. One of those chaps. Or not one of those chaps, one of the others. He was speaking to the Frenchman. Then he went across to the railings. Spoke to someone. As if he was on an errand for the Frenchman. Buying something for him.
Did he buy anything?
No. Just came straight back.
To the Frenchman?
Yes.
Spoke to him?
Mr Colthorpe Hartley hesitated.
Think so. Stopped looking. Cant go on watching a chap forever, you know. Bad form.
So you looked away.
Yes.
And when you looked again, the Frenchman had gone?
Thats right.
Just one thing more, Mr Colthorpe Hartley, said Owen. You spoke of seeing a suffragi. Or one of the others. One of the others?
One of the other chaps from the hotel. The ones who go out with parties. Take you to the bazaar.
A dragoman?
Thats right. A dragoman.
Would you be able to identify him if we paraded the hotel dragomans before you?
These chaps all look alike to me, said Mr Colthorpe Hartley.
Mahmoud established with Reception the name of Monsieur Moulins petite amie and sent a note up asking if she could see him. Madame Chévènement replied that she was still indisposed but would make an effort to see him on the following morning at eleven oclock.
Nikos was going through Owens engagements for the week. He had not included the Moulin affair. When Owen drew attention to this he shrugged his shoulders and said: Youre not going to be spending much time on this, surely?
Garvin wants me to. He says its political.
It will all be over by next week. Theyll pay, wont they?
Probably. Though whether we ought to let it go at thats a different matter.
Theres not much else you can do, is there? They wont want you interfering.
Yes, but its the principle of the thing. If you let Zawia get away with it once, theyll try it again. And again. Until theyre caught.
In the end theyll make a mistake and then well catch them. Until then theres no sense in bothering about them.
If we dont work on the case how will we know about the mistake?
Your friend El Zaki is working on the case, isnt he? Nikos disapproved of too warm relationships with other departments. Why dont you leave it to him?
It could blow up in our face. Thats what Garvins worried about.
The French are quite efficient at this sort of thing.
Theyre the ones who are on to me.
Well, obviously theyre not going to miss a chance to make trouble. Anyway, if they can take it out on you they wont feel so bad about paying.
We dont know they will pay yet.
Of course theyll pay. Incidentally, has the follow-up message got through yet?
About paying? No, I dont think so.
It probably has. Theyll keep quiet about it.
I think Id have heard. Theyd have warned me off.
Perhaps it hasnt, then. Nikos considered. If youre so worried about it, he said, I could ask our man at the hotel to keep an eye open for it.
Have we got a man at the hotel?
Weve got a man at all the hotels. The main ones. It doesnt cost much, he assured Owen, thinking he detected a shade of concern and assuming, naturally, that the concern was financial and not moral.
On becoming Mamur Zapt Owen had inherited a huge information network, which Nikos administered with pride. What was striking about it was not its size, since a highly developed political secret service was normal in the Ottoman Empire and the British had merely taken it over, nor its ability to find informers, since people came cheap in Cairo: rather, it was its efficiency, which was not at all characteristic of the Ottoman Empire. It was, however, characteristic of Nikos, who brought the pure passion of the born bureaucrat to his work.
Where is he?
At Reception.
That might be useful.
It was where the first message was left.
Owen thought about it. If we could get a look at it
Nikos nodded. Thats what I thought. Note the contents and pass it on.
It could all go ahead.
They would pay.
Moulin would be released.
And with any luck, said Nikos, we would be watching and could follow it up.
Id go along with that, said Owen, Id go along with that.
Later in the morning, Nikos came into Owens room just as he was about to go out to keep his appointment with Mahmoud and Madame Chévènement.
Ive been checking through the files to see if I could find anythying on Zawia. Theres nothing on any group of that name.
Its a new group, said Owen.
Yes. But often new groups are re-forming from members of old groups, so I looked through to see if there were any references to groups with associated names.
And did you find any?
Nikos hesitated.
Well, he said, this kind of stuff is just conjecture. But what about the Wekils?
The Wekils?
Came on the scene last year. Two known kidnappings. One, a Syrian, notified to us in June. Case went dead, family left the country. My guess is they paid and got out. No point in us going back over that case. But we might look at the other. A Greek shopkeeper, taken about six months ago. Again the case went dead, so they probably paid. But I think the family is still here, so we might be able to find out something.
Why is Wekil an associated name?
Its a Senussi name. The Wekils are those Brothers who take charge of business matters and so are permitted to have dealings with Christians. As I said, its just conjecture.
Mahmoud was waiting for him at Reception.
Room 216, he said.
They climbed the stairs together. The door of 216 was open and suffragis were coming out carrying suitcases. Mahmoud and Owen went straight in. A row of already packed suitcases stood by the bed. The doors of the wardrobe were hanging open. It was quite empty. A man was bending over the suitcases. He turned as they came in. It was the French Chargé dAffaires.
Madame Chévènement? asked Mahmoud.
The Chargé spread his hands apologetically.
CHAPTER 3
But shes a material witness, said Mahmoud.
Sorry! said the Chargé.
You cant do this!
The Chargé shrugged.
II shall protest!
We will receive your protest. If its made through the proper diplomatic channels.
Mahmoud looked ready to explode.
Shes not really a material witness, said the Chargé. She doesnt know a thing.
Then why are you removing her? asked Owen.
The Chargé looked at his watch.
Look, he said, perhaps I owe you something. How about an apéritif downstairs?
Mahmoud, furious, and strict Moslem anyway, refused. Owen accepted. The Chargé ordered two cognacs.
And a coffee for my friend, he added.
He led them over to an alcove.
Sorry about this, he said. I can assure you it was necessary. Absolutely necessary.
Why? asked Owen.
The Chargé hesitated.
Well, he said, its like this. We heard the wife was coming. The old lady. Madame Moulin. I ask you: would it be proper for her to find ? Well, you know.
You did this out of a sense of propriety?
The Chargé looked at him seriously.
Yes, he said. We French are very proper people.
Monsieur Moulin too?
Sex doesnt come into it. Thats quite separate.
Well, where have you put her? Can we talk to her?
Im afraid not, said the Chargé. Shes on her way home. With a diplomatic passport.
For reasons of propriety?
For reasons of state.
Reasons of state?
Madame Moulins a cousin of the Presidents wife. Thats quite a reason of state.
Come on! said Owen. Why did you do it?
Thats why we did it. Ive just told you. We couldnt have the French Presidents wifes cousin coming out and finding some floozie in her husbands bed. It wouldnt be decent. The President would get to hear about it and wed all get our asses kicked. The last thing I need just now, I can tell you, is a posting to the Gabon. Ive a little friend of my own here.
Mahmoud fumed.
The Chargé patted him on the knee Dont worry about it! These things happen.
Thats why I worry about it, said Mahmoud sullenly.
The Chargé signalled to the waiter. Another two cognacs, he said. He looked at Mahmouds coffee. I wish I could put something in that.
No, thanks, said Mahmoud.
The Chargé sipped his cognac and put it down.
Didnt I know your father? he said. Ahmed el Zaki? A lawyer?
Yes, said Mahmoud, surprised. Thats my father.
I met him in a case we had when I first came out here. He acted for us.
Owen was surprised too. Mahmoud had never spoken about his father.
How is he? asked the Chargé.
He died three years ago.
Ah. Pardon. These things happen. The Chargé shook his head sadly. Im sorry to hear that. He was a good man. Youre very like him in some ways. He finished his cognac.
Ive got to go. Look, Im sorry about all this. Were thinking of the family. Thats all. Reasons of the heart, you might say.
You might, said Owen.
The shop was in the Khan-el-Khalil, the part of the bazaar area most familiar to tourists. Some of Cairos best-known shops were there, places like Andalafts or Cohens. The Greeks shop, however, was not in their class. It was one of dozens of smaller shops all catering in their different ways for the tourist trade. Most of them sold a mixture of old brassware, harem embroideries, lacework, enamels and pottery. In the height of the season the Khan-el-Khalil would be packed with tourists, though the extent to which they made their way to a particular shop would depend on the extent to which the proprietor had greased the palms of the dragomans with piastres. It was now past the peak of the season but there were still plenty of small parties of tourists, each guided by a knowing dragoman. Traffic was growing less now, though, and this was the time when greasing was all-important. Some of the shops were almost deserted while others still hummed with business.
The Greeks shop was one of the latter. As Owen ducked through the bead curtain he almost collided with an English couple, a mother and daughter, who were just emerging.
Why, its Captain Owen! said Lucy Colthorpe Hartley delightedly.
Her mother looked at Owen with less pleasure and would have gone on if Lucy had not firmly stopped.
Look what Ive bought! she said, and showed Owen her purchase. It was a small heap of turquoise stones. Arent they lovely? Im going to have them made up when I get back. Or would I do better to have them made up here?
Here, but not in one of these shops. Get Andalaft to advise you.
I like them because theyre such a beautiful Cambridge blue. Daddy went to Cambridge. Did you, Captain Owen?
No.
Gerald didnt, either. Hes rather sore about it.
Lucy, dear, we must not detain Captain Owen. He has business, I am sure.
Business among the bazaars. What is your business, Captain Owen? Its obviously something to do with the police, but Daddy says youre not a proper policeman. Gerald says youre not a proper soldier either. So what are you, Captain Owen?
Obviously not proper.
He is the Mamur Zapt, said their dragoman, who had just followed them out of the shop.
So I gathered, said Lucy. But what exactly, or who exactly, is the Mamur Zapt?
Owen hesitated.
I see, she said. You dont want to tell me.
Its not that, he said. Its just that it would take some time.
Which just now you havent got.
Im afraid not.
Then you must tell me some other time, she said. This evening, perhaps?
Mrs Colthorpe Hartley turned determinedly away and Lucy was obliged to follow her. She gave Owen a parting wave over the dragomans shoulder.
Tonight at six, she called.
The shop was dark and cool and full of subtle smells from the lacquered boxes, the sandalwood carvings, heavy embroideries and spangled Assiut shawls which lined its walls. As Owens eyes became used to the light they picked out more objects: flat, heart-shaped gold and silver boxes set with large turquoises and used to hold verses from the Koran, old Persian arm amulets, Persian boxes with portraits of the famous beauties of Ispahan and Shiraz, old illuminated Korans. The precious stones and jewellery were kept in an inner room, better lighted and down a step. A gentle-faced Copt looked up as Owen entered.
Où est le propiétaire?
Elle est en dedans.
Elle? A silver-haired woman came out of an inner recess.
Madame Tsakatellis?
Oui.
Are you the owner?
Yes.
I was expecting to speak to your husband.
He is dead.
Dead? I am sorry.
It was a long time ago.
Light began to dawn.
Of course! You are the elder Mrs Tsakatellis. I am so sorry. I think the person I am trying to see is your son.