‘Just think of it!’ she said. ‘The whole thing rising up into the air like some huge magic carpet and whisking away across the desert down the Red Sea.’
‘And wouldn’t the people in it have a fit if it did!’ Harry grinned. ‘Now darling, you’ve talked quite enough nonsense. Let’s hear what Julian intends to do if he’s still set on making this mad expedition tonight.’
‘There’s nothing much to tell you,’ I said, ‘because my plans are quite nebulous. All I know is that Gamal’s place is part of the dope-distributing organisation and I’m going to pass the evening there on the off-chance that I can find out a little more about it.’
‘What time do you expect to get away?’ Sylvia asked.
‘Goodness knows. I may not even get in, but If I do I shall stay as long as possible.’
‘Well, we’re dining at Jimmy’s,’ she announced. ‘So if you do get slung out or get away by a reasonable hour, perhaps you’d like to come on there.’
‘I envy you,’ I said. ‘His curried prawns are the best food in Egypt, but I doubt if I’ll be through before midnight. If I find out anything that’s worth while I’ll telephone you whatever hour it is and we’ll arrange a meeting. If not, we’d better meet here at, say, ten-thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘What d’you want us to do if you fail to turn up?’ Harry asked anxiously.
‘If that happens I don’t suppose I shall be terribly interested but as you’re to see the police in any case, they’ll doubtless do their best to find my mangled corpse.’
‘Don’t, Julian!’ exclaimed Clarissa.
‘Sorry,’ I laughed. ‘I was only joking. It’s a thousand-to-one against my running into anyone at Gamal’s who would know me and I promise you I’m the very last person to get myself into trouble for the mere fun of the thing.’
Harry ordered another round of champagne cocktails but our conversation had become disjointed and uneasy. All three of them made half-hearted attempts to persaude me to change my mind about going to Gamal’s but I was pig-headed and, since my project looked like spoiling their evening, I decided that the best thing to do was to drink up and leave them. Harry made me promise that I would ring up whatever hour I got back and they all wished me luck.
I was by no means so certain as I had made out that I would not run into bad trouble and while I was dining alone at a small restaurant I had a distinct attack of cold feet. But I knew this was my last chance of striking at O’Kieff so like it or not, I had simply got to take it.
I gave myself till half-past eight, then I made my way along Mohammed Ali Street and entered the second turning on the right. The district was by no means a pleasant one and it was thereabouts that numerous British officers had been assassinated during the troublesome times when the Egyptian Nationalists were adopting terrorist tactics in order to secure Home Rule for their country.
I found the carpet shop without difficulty. The door was shut but I could see a light gleaming through its lattice, so I banged upon it loudly and after a moment an Arab in a white galabieh opened it, standing there quite silently while he waited for me to state my business.
‘Is Gamal Effendi in?’ I asked, and he nodded.
‘Who wishes to see him, master?’
‘He would not know my name,’ I said. ‘But tell him, please, that I come from Yusuf Fakri.’
‘Ayoua,’ he bowed. ‘Please to step in and wait here.’
He shut the door behind me, slid-to the bolt and left me standing in the dimly-lit shop. A number of rugs were hanging on the walls and at the back of the place there were several of the looms at which one sees small boys busily hand-weaving in the day-time. In the centre of the floor there were two great stacks of carpets nearly three feet in height and I formed the impression at once that the place was not merely a blind but that a genuine carpet business was conducted there.
After a couple of minutes the servant returned and led me upstairs to his master; while we went through the usual Arab greetings I took quick stock of the dope-trafficker.
Gamal was a fat, heavy man of fifty-odd with grizzled hair showing at the sides of his head where it was not covered by the tarboosh. His skin was dark and slightly pitted, doubtless from smallpox in infancy. There was nothing particularly villainous-looking about him but I noted that his eyes were very quick and lively. The room in which he received me was obviously his office and that in itself seemed rather a give-away; it was much too well-equipped with every sort of Western business gadget to belong to the owner of the musty, old-fashioned carpet shop downstairs.
‘You come from Fakri?’ Gamal said, pushing a box of cigarettes across his desk towards me.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘My name is Daoud el Azziz, and I am Yusuf’s cousin. He has the fever tonight and has sent me in his place.’
I knew from the list I had seen on Oonas’ desk that a man called Yusuf Fakri was due to collect a packet of dope from Gamal that night and I was taking a big risk in passing myself off as Yusuf’s cousin; but it was the only means I had been able to think of which would get me into the place without a card. If Yusuf had collected the stuff earlier in the evening I should find myself in the soup within a couple of minutes but I counted it almost a certainty that they would do their work late at night and by making my call at 8.30 I was hoping that I had forestalled him. It was an anxious moment as I watched Gamal covertly to see his reaction to my story.
He frowned but to my relief said, after a moment, ‘So the young fool’s taken a spot too much again, eh?’
‘No, no, Mr. Gamal!’ I hastened to protest. ‘Believe me, poor Yusuf is really ill. He ate bad fish, I think; anyhow it is some sort of poisoning. He was sick and weak as a dog when he sent for me this evening and begged me to report to you and offer my services in place of his own for a job that he had to do.’
‘What sort of a job?’ Gamal enquired.
I shrugged and spread out my hands in a truly Oriental gesture. ‘Mr. Gamal, he told me nothing; only that you relied on him and that if you were willing to let me take his place I could earn some good money.’
‘I bet you’ve got a pretty shrewd idea what Yusuf does, or he wouldn’t have sent you,’ said Gamal quickly.
‘Well, Mr. Gamal,’ I fluttered my eyelashes coyly and smiled at my feet. ‘Yusuf knows I’m to be trusted. And although he’s never let on to me, I’ve got my own ideas how he earns his cash.’
‘You’ve guessed anyhow that for a few hours every couple of weeks he risks seeing the inside of a prison?’
‘Nobody ever gets paid good money for doing nothing,’ I said sententiously. ‘We’ve all got to live, haven’t we?’
‘That’s true enough,’ Gamal nodded. ‘And you’re the sort of boy who’s prepared to risk a spell on those lines yourself, eh?’
‘Yusuf didn’t say so but I’m sure that’s why he picked me. I’m game to do anything you wish, Mr. Gamal—if the pay’s right.’
He stared at me very hard for a moment with his little, black, beady eyes, evidently wondering whether he could trust me, but my story was plausible enough and, in view of Oonas’ carefully-arranged roster of collectors, he probably had no one else to hand that he could send in Yusuf’s place. Without saying anything further he stood up and went out of the room.
I was beginning to get a little anxious as it suddenly occurred to me that he might be telephoning somewhere to check up my story and if he did I should be sunk. I slipped my hand behind my hip and loosened my gun so that it would draw easily, knowing that if Gamal was checking up my only hope of getting out of the place alive would be by acting before he could.
The moment the door opened my fears were set at rest; he had only gone to get the dope and he threw a large brown paper packet, which evidently contained it, on to the desk.
‘There’s the stuff,’ he said sitting down again. ‘You’ll be paid tomorrow. Where d’you want the money sent?’
‘Send it to Fakri, Mr. Gamal. He told me he was putting me on to a good thing
and naturally he wants his split. All I’d like to know is the total you’re paying for the evening’s work.’
‘Two hundred piastres. Split it how you like. Now about delivery. You’re to take the stuff to the City of the Dead. Do you know the building they call the House of El Said?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, you know the police-post. That’s more or less in the centre of the city.’
‘Yes,’ I said, and he leaned forward to draw a little diagram on a sheet of paper.
‘Here’s the police-post. You don’t have to walk right into it as it’s the only place in the whole area where there will be any lights. Directly you’ve located it, take the main road back to modern Cairo and go down the sixth turning on your right coming from the police-post. Two hundred yards down it you turn right again; there are roofless buildings on both corners. Next to the one on the left is the burial house of El Said. The family keep it in some sort of repair and the shutters are painted green; you can’t possibly miss it because it’s the only house thereabouts that has any shutters to its windows at all. Just beyond it you’ll find what used to be the side entrance, which is recessed into the wall. Sit down in there and nobody’ll see you even if they pass within a foot of you. Your opposite number will come straight up to you and say, “I’m a stranger from Assiut and I’ve lost my way. Can you direct me back to the city?” upon which you will reply, “I’m a stranger too, but I come from Suez.” By which each will know that the other is all right. You then hand him the package and make your way home. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ I nodded. ‘He says he’s from Assiut and I say I’m from Suez. What time am I to be there?’
Gamal glanced at his watch. ‘It’s barely nine yet and you’re not due at your post till twelve-fifteen. Why the devil did you come so early?’
‘Yusuf said it would be best for me to do so in case you didn’t care to take me on, as then you would have plenty of time to find somebody else.’
‘I see. That’s all right, then. What are you going to do in the meantime?’
‘Oh, hang around. Have coffee somewhere.’
‘Oh no, you’re not,’ he said promptly. ‘Not with that packet of stuff in your possession. It might be pinched off you or you might get mixed up in some shindy. You had best stay here. I can’t have you in this office but you can sit downstairs in the shop and if you leave at half-past eleven that will be quite time enough.’
‘Just as you say, Mr. Gamal,’ I agreed submissively.
‘Another thing, young man,’ he went on. ‘Once you’ve done your job, forget it. If one of my people drops out I might be able to use you and you can make some easy cash on trips like this. But you’re not to come near this place again unless you’re sent for. You’re not to speak to your opposite number, either, except just the words I’ve told you; and I wouldn’t advise you to have any bright ideas about following him through innocent curiosity when he goes off because if you do you’ll get a knife in your back.’
‘You don’t have to worry, Mr. Gamal. I’m grateful for the job and want to work for you again, so I won’t do anything but just what you’ve told me.’
‘That’s the way,’ he nodded. ‘Now you’d best go downstairs. Turn to the left at the bottom.’
As he opened the office door for me Gamal shouted to his servant and told the man to provide me with a paper to read while I was waiting. I thanked him and, descending, settled myself on a pile of carpets in the musty shop, soon after which I was given a copy of El Mokattam, the leading Cairo paper.
The light was dim and the print bad but I made a pretence of studying it while I thought matters over. Although I bad failed to think up a way of penetrating to the inner portion of the dope-den where the hashish-addicts congregated I felt I had done far better. Having made Gamal’s acquaintance I should know him again anywhere and as he had swallowed my story was, temporarily at least, a member of his organisation entrusted with a consignment of the drug. That would enable me to contact my opposite number and, I hoped, trace him, when I had handed it over, to some other depot in the chain. Moreover, although I had not been given the run of the place, quite fortuitously I had actually been ordered to remain within sight of its door for two and a half hours and so would have the opportunity of observing everybody who came in and out of it without arousing the least suspicion.
However, there was one most unpleasant snag. Yusuf’s illness was pure invention in my part and it was a hundred-to-one that he would turn up in the normal course of his duties to collect the packet of dope that I was holding. Immediately he appeared the cat would be out of the bag and I would find myself up to my neck in trouble. For a moment I was tempted to try to make my get-away as soon as I could but I saw that if I did that Gamal would be certain to suspect me and, having ample time in hand, send some of his people to beat me up when I appeared at the rendezvous in the City of the Dead at twelve-fifteen. Obviously I had to hang on where I was as long as I could do so with reasonable safety. As Yusuf did the job regularly it would be bad luck if he put in an appearance before eleven at the earliest, so I determined to stick it out till then.
It soon became obvious to me that the carpet shop was used only as a business entrance to the premises and that there must be some other, probably through a court at the rear of the buildings, to which the hashish-addicts came to indulge in their dope-dreams.
The results of my vigil were most disappointing. Only two people knocked on the street-door and were admitted by the Arab servant. One was a short, thick-set, bespectacled Jew, evidently a regular visitor as he nodded to the Arab and hurried upstairs in a most business-like manner without even asking if Gamal could see him. The other was a heavily-painted woman of about thirty who had the appearance of a French prostitute. She too hurried up to Gamal’s office as though she had urgent business to transact and both left again within a few minutes of their arrival.
It occurred to me that the place probably consisted of two houses backing on to each other and connected only by a secret entrance through the partition wall; so that if one of the patrons gave the place away to the police and it was raided Gamal would remain quite unmolested in his room above the carpet-shop, which was the real nerve centre of the business. Actually I should have learnt little if I had been in the addicts’ side of the house and I congratulated myself on having got into this quieter but infinitely more important section of it.
It was a weary business sitting there pretending to read the Arabic newspaper, but my boredom never lasted for more than a few moments as it was constantly punctuated by the thought that Yusuf might arrive on the scene or, having arrived by some other entrance, be actually closeted with Gamal plotting my destruction.
At last I saw by my wrist-watch that it was eleven o’clock. As far as I knew Gamal had not given any instructions to his man to prevent my leaving before half-past so I stood up and, walking to the door, began to unbolt it.
At that moment there was a loud knock and I opened the door to find a young man standing on its step. He was about my own age and I almost laughed as I noticed the striking resemblance of his clothes to those I was wearing. They were, of course, of much more shoddy material than Harry’s but he also had on a check jacket, grey flannel trousers and a pullover with a flamboyant tie. I was just patting myself on the back for the excellent choice of garments I had made for the part I was playing when the Arab servant came up behind me and said to the young man:
‘Good evening, Mr. Fakri.’
Either the servant was extraordinarily slow-witted or, more probably, Gamal had not told him that I was supposed to be taking Fakri’s place; otherwise that fat would have been in the fire there and then. As it was I saw that Yusuf, after one glance at the parcel I was carrying, had begun to eye me curiously. It was obviously no time to linger. I smiled broadly at Yusuf, thrust my way past him with a cordial ‘good evening’ and nodding good night to the servant, stepped out into the street.
I did not dare to l
ook back but I had the impression that they were staring after me and talking together excitedly on the doorstep. The moment I had turned the corner into Mohammed Ali Street I took to my heels and ran.
It was an unpleasantly close shave but there were still plenty of people about so I had no difficulty in losing myself and a few minutes later I was back in the Opera Square considering what my next move should be.
Undoubtedly by now Gamal and Yusuf would be entering into angry explanations and aware of the trick that had been played on them. What would they do? Most probably they would believe me to be either a dope-thief or a police spy. I was carrying a package which, judging by its weight, probably contained £500 worth of hashish—a fine haul for any thief—and I knew that there were a number of these operating in the drug market, their line being to sell the precious dope back to the organisation by devious channels.
If Gamal and Co. put me down as a thief they would be sick as mud but there was nothing very much they could do about it. On the other hand they might believe me to be a police spy, in which case they would be burning papers as hard as they could go in anticipation of a raid; but they would also know that the police have a habit of following up any information they are lucky enough to get hold of and would naturally endeavour to rope in the man who was due to collect the dope in the City of the Dead that night. If it was too late to warn him, Gamal might try heading him off in which case there was a chance of my coming into collision with his people at the rendezvous; but I decided that I must risk that. If luck was with me they would be too scared to do anything and I should have a clear field to meet and follow my opposite number.
The Quest of Julian Day Page 15