‘Dead right,’ said Kemal.
‘A car!’ said Owen.
The man looked at him slyly.
‘Not like you, Effendi!’
‘No, not like me,’ said Owen. ‘Better than a lift on a water-cart, isn’t it?’
The men laughed. Then they shifted the water-bags on their shoulders and went off.
***
He saw Georgiades coming in through the depot gates, holding a man. The Greek was deceptive. He seemed fat and flabby but when he got his hands on you, they were surprisingly strong. He had an arm-lock on the man and there was little the man could do about it.
‘Ahmet, is it?’
‘What if it is?’ the driver said, truculently.
Owen was pleased but surprised.
‘I didn’t really expect you to pick him up so easily,’ he said to Georgiades.
‘And you wouldn’t have,’ said the driver. ‘Only I went back home to get some money. I didn’t think you’d get there so quickly.’
‘Well, there you are!’ said Georgiades. ‘I’m like that!’
He looked at Owen.
‘What do you want me to do with him? Do you want to talk to him? Or shall I take him back to the Bab-el-Khalk?’
‘No, not yet. Take him down to the river.’
He wanted to get him on his own, away from the other people.
‘The river?’
Georgiades looked surprised, the driver apprehensive.
‘Hey!’ he said. ‘What are you going to do to me?’
‘There was a bomb in that cart.’
‘Look, that was nothing to do with me.’
‘You were driving the cart, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Didn’t they tell you?’
‘No, they bloody didn’t! And if they had, I wouldn’t have done it!’
‘But you did do it, Ahmet, and that was bad. Ordinary people might have been killed. Women and children!’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Got children of your own?’
‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. And I’m telling you I wouldn’t have done it—’
‘—if you’d known. What did you know, Ahmet?’
The man closed his lips firmly.
‘Nothing!’ he said.
‘How much did they offer you?’
Almet shook his head obstinately.
‘Enough to pay the rent? That’s what you said. And a bit more? Look, you can tell me that, Ahmet. I’ve talked to Hussein.’
‘A bit more,’ he muttered.
‘What was it for, Ahmet? Was it to carry the bomb and let if off?’
‘No, it bloody wasn’t!’
‘Tell me.’
‘It was—’
Ahmet stopped.
‘Just to carry the bomb?’
‘No! No! I didn’t know anything about the bomb!’
‘Don’t tell me they promised you all that money for doing nothing, Ahmet!’
‘I’m not saying anything!’
‘Why not, Ahmet? Because they told you not to? Threatened you, perhaps? Kept some of the money back? But, look, Ahmet, the way it is left means that you get all the blame. You’re the one who will be punished. The bomb was in your cart. A bomb! The Khedive! Think, Ahmet, think! The punishment will be heavy. While they, the ones who spoke to you, suffer nothing. Is that fair, Ahmet?’
‘Look, I know nothing about it.’
‘Oh, come, Ahmet! They gave you money. What for? If it wasn’t to carry the bomb?’
‘It was…it was to break down. In the road the Khedive was to travel on. It was a sort of joke, see? That’s what they told me. There were all those nobs, the Khedive and all that, all going along in their fancy cars, and they’d have to stop. It would make them look silly, see? Remind them who did the work around here. Show them how important a water-cart driver was. That was all! All I had to do was break down in the Sharia Nubar Pasha, where it would be awkward for them. That’s what they said. That’s what they told me. They didn’t say anything about a bomb! God knows, if they had, I wouldn’t have—’
‘All right, all right. But, Ahmet, what about these men? These men who hold back, keep out of sight, and let you take the blame—what sort of men are they?’
‘Posh. And not just ordinary posh, if you know what I mean. Not like Ali Bakhtar, say, who runs the big shop in the bazaar. Really posh. The way they were dressed! Like the Khedive himself! As if they were wrapped in money. Their shoes—’
Ahmet shook his head in wonderment.
‘Their shoes?’
‘Shone like the sun! And you could see they didn’t have to polish them or anything. And their hair!’
‘What about their hair?’
‘It smelt of roses.’
‘I see.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And did they wear the tarboosh?’
The pot-like red hat that almost all officials wore. Owen himself wore one.
‘Oh, yes, Effendi.’
That was foolish of them, thought Owen. But then, there were a lot of officials in Cairo.
***
He told Georgiades to take Ahmet back to the Bab-el-Khalk. He was not, however, going with him. He had one more visit he wanted to pay first: to the Mission for Sick Animals. Actually, they didn’t have to be sick. Any animal would do, but it helped if it was in need of care and protection.
As, of course, most animals in Cairo were. Donkeys were often overloaded and always being beaten. Camels, difficult beasts and particularly difficult in towns, were always stopping in the narrow streets and blocking up passage for everyone until they were whipped into continuing. Oxen proceeded under a general hail of blows, and even the docile horses that pulled the arabeahs were treated with casual brutality. It wasn’t so much, as some maintained, that Orientals were cruel, as that life generally was cheap.
There was no denying, though, that animals in Cairo were ill-treated and this had roused the concern of the redoubtable ladies who had formed the Mission. They patrolled the streets in search of animals which needed their assistance and then seized them from their astonished owners, sometimes paying for them, which astonished the owners even more, and took them to the Mission for rehabilitation. It was a cause that Owen could commend, but hitherto he had not felt moved to engage with the Mission more closely.
Its office was in a small back-street not far from the Midan Kanteret and at first he was surprised to see so few animals there. That was because, a sturdy, grey-haired lady informed him, they were at once transferred to more sympathetic surroundings outside the city where they could benefit from green fields and medical attention. The base in the City was just a forward point from which the Mission’s patrols could push out in all directions.
And were the patrols out even now? They were indeed. And Miss Skiff with them? Miss Skiff had not long returned and was sitting outside in the small courtyard having a cup of tea.
‘Miss Skiff! Captain Owen. I have come to see that you have got back safely.’
‘Thank you. That is most kind of you. As you see, I have. Mr. McPhee was kind enough to bring me.’
‘And were you able to procure some nose-bags for the horses?’
‘I was. We always have some lying around. It helps to calm the horses after someone has brought them.’
‘Ah, good. And the hay—?’
‘I have a young friend who helped to find some. Ah, here he is!’
A young Egyptian boy came into the courtyard.
‘This is Hillal.’
‘Greetings to you, Hillal.’
‘And to you, Effendi, salaams.’
‘Hillal is a former pupil of mine. A very good pupil, I may add.’
Hillal smiled.
‘All Miss Skiff�
�s pupils were good pupils,’ he said affectionately.
‘But not as good as Hillal,’ said Miss Skiff fondly. ‘He was always so helpful. I felt he had a natural talent for the classroom. I tried to persuade him to become a pupil teacher, but it was not to be.’
‘I have brothers and sisters, Effendi,’ Hillal explained, ‘and my mother is alone. She needs the money.’
‘And a pupil teacher is paid so little,’ said Miss Skiff.
‘Perhaps I can help?’ suggested Owen. ‘There are grants for this kind of thing and perhaps if my voice were added to Miss Skiff’s…’
Hillal shook his head regretfully.
‘It would not be enough, Effendi. And it would take all my time whereas at the moment I can do many things, small things, which add up.’
‘He works so hard,’ said Miss Skiff. ‘And yet he still helps me with the Mission.’
‘The Prophet tells us that each day we should try to do some good,’ said the boy seriously. ‘Well, this is my good. And, besides,’ he shrugged. ‘I like horses.’
‘Are the horses back at the Depot yet?’ asked Miss Skiff.
‘No. Not yet. I have just been down there. To check on the conditions there.’
‘Oh, they’re not bad at the depot,’ Miss Skiff said brightly. ‘I’ve been down there myself. No, it’s when they get out on the streets—the drivers are sometimes so unmerciful. But there’s no point in beating them, is there? It’s not as if they’re in a race.’
‘Indeed not. And I hope that the drivers of the cart in the Nubar Pasha were not ill-treating their horses?’
‘No, they weren’t ill-treating them. They were not exactly kind to them but I’ve seen a lot worse.’
‘It wasn’t their fault that the cart broke down.’
‘No. And, to do the men justice, I don’t think they pretended it was, which drivers do sometimes, you know. One of the men got down and looked under the cart, and then he said something to the other man, and then the other man jumped down and they both ran away.’
‘Ah, he looked under the cart, did he?’
‘Yes, as if something was broken. But it seemed all right to me. It was going along quite normally and then it stopped. For no reason that I could see. And then the men ran away, leaving the horses standing there. Of course, they’re used to it, so normally it wouldn’t matter. But with so many people around, and the street so narrow, it didn’t seem to me right. I spoke to the man beside me and said: ‘They shouldn’t leave them like that!’ ‘No, they shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘Not with the Khedive coming. They should get that bloody cart out of the way.’ ‘Which was not what I meant.’
‘You did see the drivers, of course?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you recognise them if you saw them again?’
‘I think so.’
‘It’s just that you may be asked to identify them. If it’s decided to take action against them.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to see them actually punished. Although I do think they shouldn’t be allowed to drive around carrying a bomb. Not with so many people around. And the horses so near.’
***
As he walked back to the Bab-el-Khalk he felt reasonably satisfied. The Khedive was safe and should be back in the Abdin Palace by now. He had two of the men responsible and they had told him interesting things which would, he thought, allow him to get the others. He would get more out of them when he got back to the Bab-el-Khalk. The shock of being in the cells often loosened tongues. All in all it had been a pretty good day.
***
He had hardly got into his office when Nikos said:
‘There’s a man to see you.’
‘Can he wait? I want to talk to that man we arrested first.’
‘This is his lawyer.’
‘His what?’
Drivers of municipal water-carts didn’t have lawyers. Not in Cairo, they didn’t.
‘A Mr. Narwat. He says he has been retained by Hussein Farbi.’
‘Look, he can’t have been. We’ve only just taken Farbi in.’
‘Nevertheless.’
‘He hasn’t had time to retain him. Has he sent a message out?’
‘No.’
‘Then this is a fix. Tell him to sod off.’
‘Mr. Narwat is a respectable, well-known lawyer,’ Nikos said neutrally.
‘He can’t have been retained.’
‘He says he has been. I think,’ said Nikos, ‘that you’d better see him.’
***
Mr. Narwat, a short, balding Egyptian in a dark suit, bustled in and held out his hand.
‘Captain Owen? I’m Yasin Narwat and I’m representing Hussein Farbi, whom I believe you are holding?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘Have you charged him yet?’
‘Not had a chance to.’
‘Ah, well, we’re only dealing with formalities, then. I need not take up much of your time.’
‘I was hoping to ask him a few questions.’
Mr. Narwat pursed his lips.
‘Well, you certainly can. But I shall advise him to confine his answers to giving his name and address.’
‘This was nearly a serious incident. Innocent lives could have been lost. Including those of women and children.’
Mr. Narwat pursed his lips again.
‘Appalling!’ he said.
‘I was hoping that Mr. Farbi would be able to help me in my inquiries.’
‘I am sure he would wish to do so. However…’
‘You don’t think he will be able to?’’
‘I am afraid I would have to advise him otherwise. In his own interests. May I be present while you charge him?’
Owen shrugged.
‘Tell Selim to bring him up,’ he said to Nikos.
‘And Mr. Ahmet Kassani, too,’ said Mr. Narwat quietly.
‘Separately,’ said Owen.
***
Selim appeared with Hussein.
‘Ah, Mr. Farbi? I am Yasin Narwat and I shall be representing you.’
‘What?’ said Hussein.
‘I am your lawyer,’ said Mr. Narwat patiently.
‘My—?’
‘But what is this?’ Mr. Narwat cut him off. ‘My client appears to be suffering from injury!’
‘Received while resisting arrest.’
‘So the police always say!’
‘There were witnesses at the time.’
‘But not to what went on afterwards in the cells.’
‘Nothing went on afterwards in the cells.’
‘No? Well, well, Captain Owen, perhaps we don’t need to make too much of this. I shall, of course, be applying for bail.’
‘Bail?’ said Owen incredulously. ‘On a charge like this?’
‘It is, of course, up to you whether you oppose it. But in view of the possible question of violence inflicted while in police custody…’
He paused, leaving the threat, or offer, dangling in the air.
Owen could read his game now.
He smiled.
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.
***
‘Violence?’ protested Selim, after Narwat had gone and Hussein had been returned to the cells. ‘He just jumped up in my hands and hit his head on the underneath of the meshrebiya above! That’s all it was!’
But how would that sound in court, Owen wondered?
The speed with which the lawyers had been deployed troubled him. He was beginning to realise that there was more to this than he had thought.
***
The bomb consisted of a piece of iron piping with screw-cap ends enclosing a metal container filled with picric acid. Inside the lips of one end of the piping was hung a small glass bottle containing nitric acid
, closed with a loose plug of cotton-wool. So long as the bomb was kept upright it was harmless but once out of the vertical the nitric acid oozed into the picric and detonated it.
‘Not the usual sort of thing, sir,’ said the sergeant at the barracks. ‘The man who dreamed this up wasn’t exactly what I would call a professional, sir. I’ve got a dozen better bits of kit in my store. If you wanted to blow someone up, that is. This was an amateur job. But not an ignorant amateur. It was someone who knew something about science. Not a lot, perhaps, but enough.’
Owen nodded.
‘I’ve seen something like this before,’ he said.
The sergeant looked at him shrewdly.
‘A student, sir? They’re up to all kinds of tricks, aren’t they? And this would be within the capacity of even a first year student in one of the Science Departments. And just at the moment, the way things are in Cairo…’
***
While he was at the Barracks he went round to see his car. He found the driver polishing it.
‘It’s got a bit dusty, sir,’ he said apologetically.
He gestured at the extra armoured plates he had had put in.
‘Want these taken out, sir? I imagine there’ll be no need for them now.’
How wrong!
***
‘I don’t know what you’re fussing about,’ said Zeinab. ‘You can always get it cleaned.’
While he was at the garage he had picked up his suit. Its state was less than pristine.
‘It looks all right to me,’ said Zeinab.
‘Yes, but it’s as if someone else has worn it.’
‘Heavens, it was only a dummy!’
But Owen still felt uncomfortable.
‘It’s my best suit,’ he said lamely.
‘It’s your only decent suit. And it’s high time you get another one.’
‘What with?’
‘It’s nearly the end of the month, isn’t it?’
For Zeinab the glass was always half full.
‘There are still ten days to go. And there are all those things you bought last week that we haven’t paid for yet.’
‘They’ll give you credit. Someone in your position.’
Zeinab brought assumptions to their marriage which she had carried over from life with her father. Nuri Pasha had always lived in style. That, as he said, was half the battle. The other half, of course, was finding the wherewithal to pay for it, and this had always proved more difficult. Business, he knew he had no great capacity for. For Government, on the other hand, he was sure he had: at least, for that capacity to turn office into favours into cash that had always marked out the Ministers of the old Regime.
The Mark of the Pasha Page 3