‘You still had the Calf, of course?’
The man shuffled his feet. ‘There were arrangements,’ he said evasively.
‘Yes, and I think I know them, or at least some of them. Tell me, incidentally, how you found the Calf in the first place?’
‘We’re always going through the tombs. There are lots of underground passages. Some of them are blocked up, deliberately blocked, I mean, years ago by the Pharaoh’s overseer. From time to time we unblock one. Only we don’t really have the proper tools until the archæologists come.’
‘Did you try and dispose of it without going through Marbrouk?’
‘Yes.’ The man shrugged. ‘It’s very difficult, though. You get the biggest prices abroad, and of course for ordinary villagers there’s no way of contacting rich people in America—’
‘So in the end you had to go through Marbrouk?’
‘Yes. He beat us down, of course. He always does. But that’s the way of things. The rich are powerful and the poor have to work for a living.’
The heat in the office was almost unbearable. It was hot anyway but now with all the men in it the temperature had risen until it was overwhelming. Owen had thought of questioning the men in the yard but he wanted them to feel just a little disoriented. He knew, however, he wouldn’t be able to go on much longer. One or two of the men, used to heat though they were, seemed on the verge of fainting.
‘Only a little more,’ he said, ‘then I will have you taken downstairs into the yard and you can have a drink. First, though, there is this: the Sitt was not the only one, was she, who came searching for the Calf?’
The little row of men shuffled uneasily. Everyone looked at the ground.
‘Two men: Abu and Rashid. They came searching, too. Only they were killed.’
There was complete silence.
‘We weren’t there,’ muttered one of the men.
‘I know; and therefore you can talk to me without fear.’
The men kept their eyes fixed on the ground.
‘These were ordinary men,’ said Owen, ‘fellahin like you. Why was it necessary to kill them?’
Still not a word.
‘They had wives and children, like you. Life is hard without a man.’
The man he had met in the street was sweating profusely. He wiped his face with his sleeve.
‘They were spies,’ he said in a strangled voice.
‘Who for?’
‘We do not know. The Pasha said there were others who were looking for the Calf and we must see they did not take it from us.’
‘Abu and Rashid: did they find the Calf?’
‘No. But we were afraid they might.’
Another silence.
‘They were traitors,’ said another of the men hoarsely. ‘They were the Pasha’s men, like us. And they were working for someone else.’
‘They seemed to know something—to know what to look for. Perhaps they had already found something out. It—it was important they should not go back and tell.’
‘Who was it?’ asked Owen. ‘Who did it?’
The men did not reply. He had not expected them to.
***
‘I was hoping, Pasha,’ said Owen, ‘that you would help me.’
‘Is it not time, Monsieur le Mamur Zapt,’ said Marbrouk, ‘that you started helping me?’
‘I would be glad to do so, Pasha. But first you must tell me what you know.’
‘About what?’
‘The Calf, for a start.’
Marbrouk shrugged. ‘Rumour,’ he said, ‘mere rumour.’
‘But with sufficient substance in it for you to approach possible buyers overseas.’
Marbrouk laughed. ‘That still doesn’t make it anything more than rumour,’ he said.
‘No? Are you saying you went to the trouble of contacting possible buyers merely on the off-chance that the Calf existed?’
‘I’m not saying I contacted possible buyers.’
‘There was no deal with the villagers at Der el Bahari?’
‘A deal? With fellahin? Preposterous! My dear fellow, you forget you are talking to a Pasha.’
Owen was silent. At the moment it would still be only their word against his. And his was the word of a Pasha.
‘Deal?’ said Marbrouk, watching his face. ‘Bizarre! And that goes for all that stuff about the Calf, too. The stuff of fiction! Purely imaginary. No, my dear fellow,’ said Marbrouk, shaking his head, ‘before we can talk about Calves, you’ll have to convince me there ever were such a thing. Produce the Calf, my dear Owen, produce the Calf; then we can talk.’
***
It was midday by the time Owen reached Alexandria and the city was already shutting up shop for its siesta. He took a carriage, nevertheless, to the depot and arrived just as it was closing.
Francesca, talking to a workman at the door, looked round.
‘Captain Owen!’
‘Forgive me for catching you just at this moment, but I was anxious to see some of the packages you brought with you from Cairo. They have not gone through Customs yet?’
‘No, we are taking them tomorrow. But why—?’
‘The Parker packages especially.’
Francesca thought a little and then smiled.
‘I see. You are afraid another piece of façade may have gone missing?’
‘That sort of thing, yes.’
‘The façade, of course, is still at the Museum. Alphonse refuses to release it.’
‘Good for him.’
‘But come in!’
She led the way back into the warehouse. It was full of crates, many of which he thought he recognized, the one with the gilt paint, certainly. And there, a large pile occupying most of the space in the warehouse, were the packages containing the spoils of Der el Bahari.
‘You realize they are all boxed up, don’t you?’ said Francesca. ‘We can’t open them now that they’ve left the Museum? It can only be done in Customs. Though perhaps if you’re the Mamur Zapt—’
‘No,’ said Owen, ‘no, I don’t think it will be necessary to do that. They go on to Customs tomorrow, you say?’
‘Yes. I’ve got the paperwork here if you want to take a look at that. You could go through matching the boxes—to make sure they’re all there, I mean.’
‘Thank you.’
He gave the papers to Georgiades. The Greek began to work his way through the packages, examining each carefully.
‘I don’t think he’ll find they’ve been tampered with,’ said Francesca. ‘We have a good name.’
‘I’m sure you have. And I’m sure it’s deserved.’
Georgiades moved on to the next group of packages. Francesca looked at her watch.
‘This is going to take some time,’ she said.
‘Please don’t let me keep you from your siesta.’
‘I was thinking of lunch and wondering—there’s a nice little place round the corner.’
‘It would be a pleasure,’ said Owen.
‘What about me?’ said Georgiades plaintively. ‘Don’t I get any lunch?’
‘There’s a Greek restaurant nearby,’ said Francesca. ‘Shall I get him to send you something?’
‘Why don’t I just go there?’ asked Georgiades.
‘OK,’ said Owen, ‘we’ll pick you up on the way back. Can we make sure it’s all locked up, though?’
‘I’ll give you the keys,’ said Francesca, handing them to Georgiades. ‘This big one is for the front, the little one is for the door at the side.’
The restaurant was small, dark and crowded. The patron was Italian and so, it appeared, were most of the customers. Francesca went round the tables shaking hands. At the end she brought the patron over to Owen.
‘This is Luigi,’ she said.
Owen shook hands.
‘Captain Owen is going to approve our statue for us.’
‘Just a minute—’
Francesca gave a peal of laughter.
‘On one condition!’ she said to Luigi. ‘That is, that you get Guiscardia here to sing next season.’
‘Guiscardia!’ The patron pulled a face. ‘It would cost—’
And then, realizing he had been fooled, he shook his head reprovingly at Francesca.
The café had all the usual noise and bounce of an Italian café and Owen, quick to respond to atmosphere, at once found himself drawn in.
‘Are you sure you are not Italian?’ asked Francesca. ‘You look Italian.’
‘It’s the Welsh in me.’
Francesca regarded him thoughtfully.
‘The English I know,’ she said. ‘The Welsh I have yet to discover.’
‘You will enjoy the experience,’ said Owen.
The lunch lasted, not surprisingly, longer than he had intended and it was quite late in the afternoon when they picked up Georgiades.
Not that Georgiades, carafe in front of him, minded.
As they approached the warehouse, Francesca suddenly stopped.
‘You’ve left the door open,’ she said accusingly.
‘No, I haven’t,’ protested Georgiades. ‘I locked it up when I went.’
The side door was slightly ajar.
‘It can’t be Mekhmet,’ said Francesca. ‘He doesn’t have the keys.’
The workman came up, dusting sand out of his galabeyah. He had been asleep under a tree.
Francesca pointed to the door.
The workman shrugged and muttered something.
‘What was that?’ said Owen.
He had said something about a Sitt.
Owen went quickly to the door and stepped inside.
There, bent over a packing case, was Miss Skinner.
‘Oh dear. Red-handed!’ said Miss Skinner.
‘Again,’ said Owen.
***
‘Our thoughts have clearly been running on similar lines,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘You can guess what I’m looking for.’
‘Not entirely similar,’ said Owen. He went forward and picked up the bag of tools.
‘How could I find out other than by opening?’
‘How were you going to take it away, though?’
‘Take it away?’ said Miss Skinner. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.’
‘That was your intention, wasn’t it?’
‘Certainly not! I am assisting the police. Unofficially and informally, I admit. But to suggest I had any intention of stealing—!’
‘You were working for the other group, weren’t you? The other people interested in buying the Calf?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Parker told me there was a rival group.’
‘Ah, well, Parker…’
‘There’s the group he was working for. That’s the American/Pasha/Marbrouk group. And there’s the group you were working for.’
‘I work only for the Society for the Preservation of the World’s Treasures,’ said Miss Skinner with dignity. ‘And that, let me assure you, Captain Owen, is a perfectly respectable body.’
‘You tried to buy the Calf. And then, when you found you could not, because it had already been bought, you tried to steal it.’
‘That is a harsh word, Captain Owen, and one which you will have to justify in a court of law.’
‘There are worse words. You employed men to help you; and they were killed.’
Miss Skinner bowed her head.
‘I acknowledge that,’ she said. ‘It is the thing I regret most.’
She raised her eyes again.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I was employing them only to assist with my investigations. There was no question of any nefarious purpose. My intentions throughout have been purely public-spirited. That, at any rate—’ she smiled—‘my lawyer will maintain.’
‘Two break-ins?’
Miss Skinner brushed it aside with a gesture.
‘A mere trifle. When set against the success of my efforts. Prevention of the theft of a remarkable national treasure. At the very moment when it was on the point of disappearing from Egypt forever. I had hoped, I will admit, somewhat selfishly, that mine alone would be the glory. Now, of course, Captain Owen I shall have to share it with you.’
‘If, that is,’ said Francesca pointedly, ‘the Calf is here.’
***
‘Open the cases?’ said the Mudir of Customs. ‘By all means. At once!’
He had brought his men over to the warehouse and they fell to work immediately. They prised off the lids and opened the contents to view. Owen went round the boxes. All the spoils of Der el Bahari—except, of course, the façade—were there to see.
‘But there is no Calf,’ said Miss Skinner, puzzled. ‘I—I don’t understand. I was sure—’
‘All Parker’s stuff is here,’ said Owen.
Miss Skinner frowned. She took the list out of Georgiades’s hands, checked it and checked it again.
‘Ye-es,’ she admitted unwillingly, ‘all Parker’s stuff is here.’
She looked around the warehouse, pursing her lips. Suddenly her eyes gleamed.
‘But were there not other packages which came with Parker’s stuff? That one, for instance?’
She pointed at the big box with its gilt paint.
‘That’s my stuff,’ said Francesca.
‘I demand that it be opened.’
The Mudir looked at Owen. Owen nodded his head.
The sides of the packing case fell apart. Inside was a huge, glossy, buff-coloured stone Calf.
‘There!’ said Miss Skinner triumphantly.
Francesca walked slowly forward and ran her hand over the Calf’s flanks.
‘The workmanship is excellent, don’t you think?’ she asked Owen. ‘Only Vittorio could do something like this.’
‘Vittorio?’
‘I deal only in imitations,’ said Francesca.
Chapter Thirteen
The doors on the seaward side of the shed were open and the sunlight, reflected from the waves, cast subtle moving patterns on the roof. Through the doors came the cries of seagulls and the strong salt smell of the sea.
A line of porters was carrying packages out through the doors to a waiting wagon. As Owen watched, a man climbed up on to the wagon and took up the reins. It set off across the quay in a cloud of dust.
‘From here it goes straight to the ship,’ said the Mudir of Customs. ‘It will be on board in an hour or two.’
They walked back into the Customs House. Through the doors on the other side of the shed porters were carrying in more packages.
‘It’s a busy place,’ said the Mudir approvingly.
Tarbooshed effendis scurried hither and thither, Sous-Inspecteurs circled and swooped, porters came and went. Occasionally, Owen caught glimpses of Francesca bustling around with a preoccupied air.
A Sous-Inspecteur came up and looked at the crates.
‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘They’ve all been opened.’
‘We opened them,’ said the Mudir. ‘Go ahead as if we hadn’t.’
The Sous-Inspecteur shrugged.
‘This one,’ he said, pointing, ‘and this one.’
Once again, and for the last time, Owen saw the Spoils of Der el Bahari.
The Sous-Inspecteur checked them off against the list.
‘OK,’ he said.
The lids were put back on.
‘Any more?’
‘This one,’ said Owen, pointing to the box with the gilt paint.
‘That one, too?’ said Francesca, passing by. ‘Oh well…’
Owen w
ent across to the Calf and ran his fingers over its side.
‘It’s not always easy to tell,’ he said. ‘Often the only way you know is by the buff of the stone. There are always roughnesses in an original.’
***
‘You see,’ said Owen to Paul, as they sat in front of a growing row of glasses at the Sporting Club, ‘what she did was to switch them at the last moment. The real Calf went up from Der el Bahari with all the other stuff and was dropped off at Marbrouk’s place at Heraq. She collected it from there—I actually saw her when she was there—and took it to Vittorio’s studio to have it copied.’
‘Another one?’ said Finance, looking over their shoulder.
‘Well, that would be very nice. Thank you. The real Calf was then transported straight to her depot in Alexandria. The imitation one went to the Museum, was valued, certificated and all that, and then that went on to the depot, too. So all she had to do was switch them. In fact, all she did was transfer the seal. Tricky, and had to be done well, but then she had expert workmen.’
‘How about a freshener for those glasses?’ asked Finance.
‘Thank you. I don’t mind if I do.’
‘So she was part of the Marbrouk/Pasha/Parker group all the time?’
‘Yes. She had the tricky role at the end.’
‘Here we are! And I’ve brought two more along, just in case,’ said Finance.
‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ said Finance, ‘a real pleasure. After all you’ve done for us. Getting rid of that damned woman—!’
***
‘But what have I done?’ asked Miss Skinner, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘Broken into two premises? I apologize at once. I am, indeed, shocked at myself. But you know the concern I feel about the loss of Egypt’s treasures—’
‘But what have I done?’ asked Parker. ‘All I was doing was doing a Pasha a favour. Hey, you’re trying to get me on that licence again—’
‘But what have I done?’ asked Marbrouk, spreading his hands wide. ‘Certainly I bought the Calf. But I was going to send it on to the Museum in the ordinary way. And then it unaccountably disappeared. Someone broke into my house, that woman, Miss Skinner—’
Only Francesca said nothing. She did, however, let it be known that she was an Italian and that she claimed the right to be tried under the Capitulatory Arrangements, which meant that she had to be tried by an Italian court, in Italy, and under Italian law. Italian law, at this time, made no provision against the illegal export of antiquities…
The Spoils of Egypt Page 18