Sheiks and Adders

by Michael Innes

  ‘Puts us on our toes, eh?’ Colonel Pride suddenly chuckled happily. ‘I’m relieved, you know, about one thing. I had that notion of being involved in a thoroughly discreditable show. Letting A damn-well mow down B if he wanted to, but with a vague suggestion that somebody was around trying to keep the Queen’s peace. There’s a lot of that sort of no-holds-barred stuff nowadays.’

  ‘Mostly in thrillers, my dear Tommy. And you’re quite justified in concluding it’s not that kind of thing on the present occasion. You locate the Emir, and protect him as effectively as you can without anybody remarking the fact. Probably – and quite apart from the personal intrepidity stuff – he wouldn’t like it to be known at home that he required the protection of the British police.’

  ‘Don’t you think he may tote around an unobtrusive bodyguard of his own?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I’ve got my bearings in all this, as a matter of fact, partly from having blundered in on a kind of directors’ meeting earlier in the afternoon. There was the Emir, and there was Chitfield, and there were half a dozen other people too. But there was also a fellow with a gun. Whether he was the Emir’s property, or Chitfield’s, I wouldn’t know.’ Appleby stood up from his seat beneath the oak. ‘I suppose we’d better be getting back on the beat.’

  For a short space the two men walked in thoughtful silence, and then it was Pride who first spoke.

  ‘So just what now?’ he asked.

  ‘I do my best to locate the Emir. It may be, of course, that having concluded his business with the Chitfield crowd, he has driven, as I suggested, straight back to London. But somehow I don’t think so. For I have this impression that he is a pretty regal character, and that notions of courtesy would require him a little to participate in – or at least view – the entertainments on offer before making off. Particularly if he’s anxious to give the impression of being able to move about England quite securely. So, as I say, I do my best to find him. I then tip you off about him, and you tip off your two men – supposing you’re able to find them. Between them they need never be far away, quite without his tumbling to their identity. And you remember that trio of pseudo-sheiks? It’s a long shot, but I do in an obscure and groping way see them as a point of danger. Were they suddenly to converge on the Emir, that would be the moment to look out for the daggers. Quite like Julius Caesar on the Capitol – particularly with the whole lot of them giving that laundry-basket effect.’

  ‘I wonder whether it would be discreet to have a word with Chitfield? John, what do you think? He might well take offence at discovering I was prowling around here in this absurd pantomime dress, and that I had a couple of Dicks on the premises without so much as a by-your-leave.’

  ‘I think you’re right. Better leave it to me. I’ve been invited to this nonsense by his favourite child, you know – so I can’t easily be taken exception to. But first things first. Hunt the Emir.’

  12

  On this occasion Appleby had barely parted from Colonel Pride when he was accosted by Professor McIlwraith. The eminent philologist, indeed, appeared to have been in two minds as to which of these policemanly characters he wanted to address. And when he spoke it was to reveal a surprising state of perturbation.

  ‘Sir John,’ he said abruptly, ‘I must know, please, whether you are present at this absurd affair in an official character.’

  ‘No, I am not.’ Appleby was considerably astonished by this brusque demand. ‘I thought I’d made that clear when we ran into one another. I was simply invited to come along by Cherry Chitfield.’

  ‘And that man – that other Robin Hood – who has just left you? I gathered that he is the Chief Constable of the county. Is that so?’

  ‘Well, not exactly of the county, any longer. But that’s the general idea. Colonel Pride.’

  ‘Is Colonel Pride here officially?’

  ‘My dear sir, I can tell you nothing about Colonel Pride.’ Appleby’s surprise had increased, and he felt that he had perhaps spoken more stiffly than was required. He was certainly not entitled to give this slightly dotty scholar any information about Tommy Pride, nor had he any immediate impulse to be more communicative about himself than he had been. On the other hand, McIlwraith’s odd state of mind appeared to require explanation, and merited as much investigation as any of the other current puzzles at Drool. So Appleby spoke again. ‘Has anything happened to disturb you, Professor? Can I help you in any way?’

  ‘That young man called Fancroft, Sir John.’ McIlwraith had now a little composed himself. ‘Mark Chitfield has told me a very disconcerting yarn about him. Unfortunately it is often impossible to tell when Mark is romancing and when he is not.’

  ‘That I can well believe.’

  ‘The story is that Fancroft was anxious for some trivial reason to appear at this fête in Arab costume, and that Richard Chitfield forbad him to do so in the most peremptory fashion. I am aware that you don’t know any of these people particularly well, Appleby. But have you any reason to believe that this is true?’

  ‘Yes, I have. It is almost certainly true.’ Appleby produced this reply at once. He was suddenly convinced that McIlwraith was in some way bound in with whatever design was at present weaving itself at Drool Court, and that it was desirable to encourage him to talk. ‘And it seems,’ he went on, ‘that there is an explanation of sorts – what might be called an ostensible explanation – connected with the afternoon’s theatrical activities. Cherry has wanted to be a modern English girl carried off by a desert lover, and her father has judged that to be indelicate. He has wanted her to be a mediaeval maiden, rescued by a knight from a dragon or a sorceress or something of the sort. What do you make of that, McIlwraith?’

  ‘Absolute nonsense!’

  ‘Quite so.’

  ‘My dear Appleby, I must confide in you.’ Professor McIlwraith took a cautious glance around him. ‘The true explanation–’

  ‘The true explanation is that some serious risk attends being dressed up as an Arab at Drool this afternoon, and that our host didn’t want his daughter’s young man to be exposed to it. So much I can make out for myself. But your attitude makes me feel you know more about it all than I do. And as I am in a sense taking a professional interest in what’s going on, I’ll be glad to hear anything you have to say. For instance, perhaps you can tell me why the place is stuffing with fellows dressed up as Arabs. It’s a fact that can scarcely have escaped your observation.’

  ‘It has not. And I imagine it hasn’t escaped your speculative instincts either.’

  ‘True enough.’ Professor McIlwraith, Appleby thought, was turning a little less pedantic than usual, which was perhaps a good sign. ‘I posit at least one genuine Arab, who is the person actually under threat. The imitation Arabs have been brought in to confuse matters. You might call them extra needles chucked into the haystack.’

  ‘That’s the only possible explanation of them?’

  ‘Far from it. There may be more than one category of imitation Arab. Somebody may have decided that, having taken our thought so far, we shall think of all imitation Arabs as necessarily harmless. We shall judge them either to be in Arab costume purely fortuitously – which is perfectly possible – or to be among the spare needles, and therefore necessarily without any lethal intentions.’

  ‘My dear Appleby, that, if I may say so, is a most refined analysis. I congratulate you.’

  ‘I don’t want congratulations.’ Appleby was suddenly impatient. ‘I want facts. If I read your mind rightly, you are as apprehensive as I am that some serious threat hangs over this blasted fête. So I think we’d better pool our information. For my part, I’ve told you all I know.’

  ‘Except about your colleague Colonel Pride.’

  ‘Perfectly true. But you must tackle him yourself. He’s fair game enough. But you and I can start with the real Arab. I’ve been thinking about him as Sheik som
ebody. But now I have some reason to think of him as an Emir. Emir Afreet, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘My dear Appleby, an afreet is–’

  ‘Yes, I know. But that’s how it came over on a telephone.’

  ‘Is it, indeed?’ Very naturally, Professor McIlwraith gave this information a moment’s thought. ‘A telephone message to Pride?’

  ‘To one of Pride’s men. There’s a police presence here, although a regrettably small one. It’s only wise to tell you that.’

  ‘I see.’ McIlwraith gave this intelligence brief consideration in turn. ‘Emir Hafrait is the name of the man who has come to Drool. You may well have heard of him, Appleby. He’s a fellow of considerable importance in his way. And the occasion of my being here myself, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere.’

  ‘Not very far, I fear. The Emir is here for extremely confidential discussions with Chitfield and his associates over oil revenues and so on.’

  ‘I’d imagined as much.’

  ‘It’s stuff with which I have nothing to do. But I am Hafrait’s adviser on other matters. They may be called religious matters.’

  ‘Dear me!’ Appleby was genuinely astonished. ‘I’d have thought–’

  ‘Quite so. But during my long period in the Middle East I made, as it happens, a fairly searching study of Islam. It isn’t, you know, all that monolithic. In fact you never know in what direction this or that Mohammedan cat will jump. Hafrait’s is a modern and purely secular mind, and he finds it useful that I can offer him a wholly dispassionate view of the warring sects and their political implications. I was to have some discussion with him this afternoon when his commercial concerns were concluded. But now he has disappeared. And that is why I am holding this conversation with you.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Appleby didn’t quite know what to make of all this. It didn’t sound too plausible, but was certainly not to be ignored. ‘Supposing,’ he went on, ‘that your Emir really is under some actual threat – as I may say I’m inclined to accept, since all this hush-hush business would be pointless otherwise. Does the threat come from a purely political quarter – the toppling of one ruler in favour of another – or is it a matter of what is called Big Business in a particularly ruthless aspect, or is the motive one of religious fanaticism – as your last remarks would appear to suggest?’

  ‘My dear Appleby, you can know little of the Middle East if you believe that there is any separating all that. Search for the motive prompting any action between Suez and Tehran, and nothing but a mishmash confronts you. You wouldn’t care for it, my dear Appleby. It must make complex detective investigation very difficult. But of course the solving of criminal problems is on the whole simply conducted. You simply choose a suitable suspect and find some appropriate means of making him say what you want him to.’

  ‘I’m afraid you and I would meet with a certain amount of disapproval if we went to work that way.’

  ‘Decidedly we should. But we must get to work some way. I must say, Appleby, that I am displeased with Chitfield. His attitude over the ridiculous Fancroft shows that he has been well aware of the hazardousness of Hafrait’s coming to Drool at all. And he has dealt with the matter in a wholly freakish and irresponsible manner.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you there, McIlwraith. We’d certainly better find your Emir, and find Chitfield as well – and get the whole dangerous business wound up as soon as may be.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Professor McIlwraith appeared to find encouragement in this brisk assumption that dangerous businesses are by their nature amenable to swift control. ‘Perhaps we’d better separate and scour the place. But would you know Hafrait if you saw him?’

  ‘I rather imagine I’d know him instantly. I’ve had a couple of sightings, you know: once here in the grounds, and once in the library. Tall and commanding – and even his dark glasses don’t obscure the fact that he looks like an eagle – as emirs no doubt should.’

  ‘Or like a vulture.’ McIlwraith seemed to offer this alternative as a man well up in Middle East affairs.

  ‘And Chitfield’s pseudo-sheiks, as I’ve been thinking of them – a little chap called Pring and the others – don’t come within anything like a foot of him. Decidedly a tall man of his hands, your Emir. What, by the way, makes you say so roundly that he has disappeared?’

  ‘Simply that he was to remain in the library after Chitfield had got rid of his associates and their business with Hafrait – whom I was then to join there. But he’d vanished. Chitfield too, for that matter.’

  ‘It appears to be a general opinion that Chitfield is likely to have gravitated to his precious theatre – although it looks as if he may well have been distracted from all that nonsense. I suggest that we scour around separately, and meet up there in, say, fifteen minutes. But if you run into Pride, you’d better spare a little time to explaining yourself. There’s too much haphazard about all this at present. Rather more in the way of liaison is distinctly called for.’ Appleby let a good deal of personal disapproval percolate through this remark. ‘Whatever the threat is, I’d like to feel surer than I do that we have an adequate force to cope with it.’

  ‘Dear me!’ Professor McIlwraith said. ‘I am much to seek, I fear, at this sort of thing. But as your faithful Achates, my dear Appleby, I shall do what I can.’

  13

  The Emir Hafrait, having concluded his business with what might be thought of as Chitfield’s crowd, had failed to remain in that library for the purpose of seeing Professor McIlwraith – or for the purpose, perhaps one ought to say, of receiving Professor McIlwraith. No doubt (Appleby told himself as he began his prowl) this was a circumstance less significant than McIlwraith imagined. Harfrait was probably the next thing to royalty, and if it pleased him to wander off and take a look at his client Chitfield’s bizarre entertainment, he might very well judge it the obscure McIlwraith’s business to hang around and await his better leisure. Appleby, in fact, was rather clinging to his notion of an intrepid aristocratic Arab going his own way. The fellow might, of course, have his own effective security around him in a manner unknown even to his host of the afternoon. After all, anybody could be pretty well anything in this fancy-dress crush.

  And the crush was still increasing. Appleby was again astonished that such a very large number of presumably rational beings should choose to put in a long and exhausting afternoon at the Chitfield fête. Into an open-air party it is no doubt entirely lawful to cram as many human bodies as you please, but if you had a roof over the heads of this crowd no fire-prevention people would tolerate the spectacle for a second. And it certainly made Appleby’s present occupation peculiarly difficult; the sheer compactedness of the haystack made the hunt-the-needle business distinctly unpromising. And now he became aware of an additional obstacle. As he had already observed, sheiks and druids, unless viewed at close quarters, are much of a muchness, and he found himself repeatedly mistaking the one for the other. The Basingstoke contingent, having presumably despatched the ritual of the Golden Dawn, and having some time to spare before the yet more solemn ceremony of the perlustration of Drool Court, were recreating themselves severally or in small groups by wandering round the less arcane entertainments on offer. And as one or two of them were exceptionally tall, Appleby once or twice found himself imagining that he was about to run the Emir Hafrait to earth when in fact he was doing nothing of the sort. But then – quite suddenly – there the real chap was. Here, most definitely, was not another Pring-type pseudo-sheik. It was impossible to mistake that regal port.

  Sir John Appleby, being a well-trained policeman, glanced at his watch, and then made a dive for his quarry. But it had to be a little more than a dive. Richard Chitfield’s distinguished guest was plainly occupying himself in the manner Appleby had judged probable; much like the druids, he was taking a walk round the sights. And now he was standing a
t the other side of a tight ring of spectators surrounding the hot-air balloon as it laboriously puffed itself into shape. By the time Appleby had circumambulated this mob, the man had vanished. Surely it couldn’t be that he had become aware of the fact that a retired Commissioner of Metropolitan Police, absurdly dressed up as Robin Hood, was about to have the impertinence to accost him? No, it couldn’t be that. It was merely that, by very bad luck, the Emir Hafrait had chosen to move on to the next idle attraction.

  Even so, he was so tall that it ought to have been possible to distinguish his head bobbing away in one direction or another. But this wasn’t the case. Some configuration of the terrain must be preventing it. There was nothing to do but continue to move towards the theatre. The theatre was, after all, the centre-piece of the whole jamboree. It was the likeliest place for the Emir himself to be making for, even if circuitously, just as it was the likeliest place at which to effect the almost equally desirable running to earth of Richard Chitfield. But as either of these elusive characters might be almost anywhere else about the place, Appleby now went forward slowly and looking around him – rather like any less exalted policeman on the beat in some shady district. As a consequence of this it took him some time to arrive back at the theatre.

  As on the previous occasion, little was happening. There was nothing very surprising about that. What was perhaps unexpected was the large number of persons sitting in patient expectation of whatever might be the next event. This could be because a period had arrived in the afternoon’s proceedings at which people were relieved simply to be able to get off their feet. There was, indeed, a certain bustle in what was at least theoretically behind the scenes– occasioned by William Birch-Blackie and his companions limbering up to defend Mafeking to the death. There was no sign of any Boers. These ought, roughly speaking, to have been recruited from the surrounding juvenile peasantry of Drool. Perhaps they had refused to play. Or perhaps nobody had remembered that Boers were necessary.