To give things as light a touch as possible, Mahmoud had interviewed her in her hotel, and he had asked Owen to be with him. Owen knew very well why he wanted this. It wasnt that he doubted his own ability or needed reinforcement. Rather, it was a simple precautionary measure, advisable when an Egyptian was questioning one of the British community, especially a visitor of some importance. Owen had agreed, though with a certain apprehension. They would be sure to meet John Postlethwaite, he thought, and the MP would be sure to take up the issue with him. When they arrived at the hotel his worst fears appeared to have been realized, for there, waiting for them in the vestibule, was Postlethwaite himself.
Young man! he said formidably, and Owen feared the worst.
Young man! he said formidably, and Owen feared the worst.
I must apologize, sir, he said hastily. It was quite wrong of me to expose Miss Postlethwaite to the possibility of such a distressing incident.
Ay, said the MP, it was.
He produced the look which had crushed ministers. Owen recognized it at once and appeared suitably daunted. Unexpectedly, Mr. Postlethwaite seemed mollified.
Well, youre not trying to wriggle out of it at any rate, he said.
My fault entirely, sir.
Mr. Postlethwaite sighed.
Look, lad, he said, youre young and you dont know any better. But you dont say things like that. Not if you want to get on in government service. Its always somebody elses fault. Got it? Ill take this up with you some other time. You need a bit of advice.
He spotted Mahmoud.
This is Mr. el-Zaki, I take it? How do you do, Mr. el-Zaki. They shook hands. I dont altogether follow this Parquet business, but it sounds a bit like the Scottish system to me.
Youre quite right, said Owen, pleased. It is.
Its not a bad system, said Mr. Postlethwaite. At least you know whos responsible for what.
Jane Postlethwaite appeared in the doorway.
I hope youve not been pitching into Captain Owen, Uncle, she said.
A bit, said John Postlethwaite, exaggerating. Owen suspected that he liked to play the role of the hard man with his niece; and that she was not deceived in the least.
Ive pitched into the departments, he said with relish. He winked at Owen. Now theyll know what to expect if they try to pull the wool over my eyes.
Get them on the run, advised Jane Postlethwaite. Thats half the battle.
Owen was a little surprised at this display of administrative savoir-faire but then realized that she was probably repeating one of her uncles maxims. Mr. Postlethwaite endorsed it anyway.
Thats right, he said.
His niece laid a hand on his arm.
Now, Uncle, she said, youd better get back to your memos. Once youve got them on the run, keep them on the run.
And thats true too, said John Postlethwaite, going happily off up the stairs.
Jane Postlethwaite led them into a small room which the hotel manager had made available. The shutters had been closed, which kept the room fairly cool; but the air was lukewarm and inert and the fans useless, so after a while she pushed the shutters right open and they sat by the window.
It is fortunate for us that you were watching, Miss Postlethwaite, said Mahmoud, and that youre such a good observer.
Thank you. I wasnt really watching him particularly, you know. It was just that I couldnt help noticing him. He was so striking. So big, and so-rapt.
Did you notice him towards the end of the dance? Just before he collapsed?
Yes. He was bounding about and I kept thinking: Surely he cant keep this up, not with all those knives and things sticking in him. But he did. He kept jumping away. Then he seemed to falter. There was a man near him and I thought he had bumped into him, because he, the Zikr, I mean, seemed to stumble. And then all his strength seemed to go out of him and he just slumped down. I think his fatigue had just caught up with him. Other Zikr were collapsing too, at that point.
The man who was standing near him, the one he bumped into or might have bumped into, was he another Zikr?
Oh no. He was one of-the audience, I suppose I should say, one of the onlookers, anyway. He had sort of strayed into the ring, been drawn in, I suppose, like so many others. There were lots of them, you know, ordinary people. They pressed forward during the dancing and then they began to join in. It was very infectious. I felt quite like joining in myself. Only I thought Captain Owen would not approve of me.
She gave Owen a look which he considered afterwards he could only describe as arch.
Mahmoud, however, was concentrating.
This particular onlooker, the one the Zikr nearly bumped into, was he joining in?
No. He was just standing there. That is why I noticed him. I thought he was, well, you know, a bit dazed or something, bowled over by it all. I was afraid he would get in the way. And then, when the Zikr stumbled, I thought he had got in the way.
Could you describe him for us, Miss Postlethwaite? Mahmoud asked. What was he wearing, for instance?
Oh, ordinary clothes.
Ordinary Western clothes or ordinary Egyptian clothes?
How silly I am. Of course. Ordinary Egyptian clothes. A long gown. A-galabeah, is it?
Youre picking up our language well, Miss Postlethwaite, said Mahmoud encouragingly. Galabeah is quite right. A blue one?
No. Darker than that. Grey? Black?
Are you sure about that, Miss Postlethwaite? Owen interposed.
Well, not absolutely. It was dark by then and hard to see in the light. It was just that in comparison with the others his seemed dark.
Did you see what kind of turban he was wearing?
I am afraid not. Im sorry. One turban is much like another to me. Darkish, anyway. Like his gown.
Owen exchanged surreptitious glances with Mahmoud. It was early yet but he was already beginning to have a sinking feeling.
Anything else, Miss Postlethwaite? asked Mahmoud.
Not really. I saw him only fleetingly.
How old was he?
Thirty, forty-
You saw his face?
I must have, said Jane, concentrating. After a moment or two she shook her head. I dont remember it at all clearly, Im afraid.
Hands?
Hands? said Jane, startled.
Sometimes they are distinctive.
Yes, said Jane, looking at him with interest. Yes, they are. Well, I did see his hands, but there was nothing distinctive about them. It was just-
She broke off and thought for a moment. I dont remember his hands, she said at last, but I do remember hers.
Hers?
The womans.
What womans?
Dont you know? said Jane, surprised. Oh, I see, youre testing me. The woman he was with.
Mahmoud recovered first.
Tell us about this woman, please, Miss Postlethwaite, he asked.
Right, said Jane obediently. Well, we were in a sort of enclosure, you know, masked off by ropes. During the dancing this woman came right up beside me, outside the enclosure-I was at the very end of the row, next to the rope, there was a carpet hung over it, too, which made it into a sort of wall-and put her hand on the rope just in front of me. Thats why I saw it in the first place. But then, of course, I noticed it. She had such lovely hand-painting. Lots of Egyptian women do, dont they?
Yes, said Mahmoud, although its going out now, or so my mother says.
Does she herself hand-paint? asked Jane.
No! said Mahmoud, immensely amused at the thought of his rather Westernized mother engaging in the traditional Egyptian arts. Its not confined to the poorer classes but its certainly most common there. You find it generally where the old customs are strongest.
Such beautiful patterns! said Jane enthusiastically.
In general? asked Mahmoud. Or just in the case of the woman you saw beside the enclosure?
In general? asked Mahmoud. Or just in the case of the woman you saw beside the enclosure?
Both! said Jane. But I noticed the woman because I thought her patterns were especially lovely. She didnt paint the whole palm, you know, not like they usually do, she just sort of sketched it in and then echoed it around the knuckles and nails. But what really caught my eye were her wrists. She had a most intricate pattern around them, all in delicate blue, not the usual blue of the poorer women, and not that rich orangey-red you often see. It ran round her wrist in a series of hooks and crosses all linked together, like a sort of painted bracelet.
Crosses? said Owen. He was quite sure about the sinking feeling now.
Yes. Small square ones. Thats a traditional pattern too, isnt it?
Yes, said Owen, especially among some people.
Mahmoud was pleased.
You are a most excellent observer, Miss Postlethwaite, he told her warmly.
I could hardly help noticing, could I? said Jane, half-apologetically. It was right before my eyes.
Yes, but not everyone notices whats right in front of their eyes.
Owen kept his own eyes looking firmly out of the window.
Can you tell us anything else about this woman, Miss Postlethwaite? asked Mahmoud.
Not really, said Jane. She was dressed from head to foot in one of those black gowns. I suppose I wouldnt even have seen her hand if she had not put it on the rope. The only thing- She hesitated.
Yes? prompted Mahmoud.
The only thing I remember, she said, was the smell.
What sort of smell?
Scent.
She had a lot of perfume on?
No. Not exactly. Not in that way.
Distinctive? A distinctive perfume? Heavy, perhaps?
Jane shook her head.
Not really. I dont quite know what it was. Perhaps it was where it was that surprised me.
Where it was?
Yes. It wasnt on her wrist or on her throat, not where youd usually put it. In fact, it wasnt on her at all. It was on her sleeve. And-not just on one part. All over her sleeve.
Ah.
That means something to you, does it? she said, looking at Mahmoud.
It might. Tell me-can you remember-was it one perfume or different ones?
How clever of you. Different ones. She had been trying them on, you think? But on her sleeve?
Youve been very helpful, Miss Postlethwaite, said Mahmoud. Truly very helpful.
Is it important? asked Jane. I dont quite see-
It might be, said Mahmoud. Now, can we just go back a little. At a certain point you became aware of this lady placing her hand on the rope. When exactly was that?
I cant say exactly. Towards the end of the dancing? Yes, it must have been towards the end because at the start, you know, the women were at the back, it was the men who were at the front, and then as the dancing went on everyone became sort of drawn in and some of the women came forward, though of course they didnt actually join in the dancing or anything like that, except to cry out and encourage the dancers.