The Spoils of Egypt Read online

‘Was there anyone with her?’

  ‘No.’

  They fanned round the house. After a moment one of them called Owen over.

  ‘The house was shut,’ he said. ‘Look, this is where she broke in.’

  ‘It was shut when she came?’

  ‘The servants were at the back, I expect.’

  The trackers looked into the house but did not come inside. Outside, their skills were incredible. They could track a man and a camel for five hundred miles across the desert and then pinpoint him in a crowded market. Inside, where there was no sand, they were lost.

  ‘What about Marbrouk? Can you see his steps?’

  ‘He left the day, you left.’

  ‘And has not been back?’

  ‘No.’

  They shook their heads definitely.

  Owen rejoined Georgiades. They were talking in one of the rooms when there was a tap on the shutter.

  ‘Effendi!’ It was one of the trackers.

  Owen opened the shutters.

  ‘Some men came. They seized her, we think, and took her away.’

  Owen went out. The trackers were standing by a small rear door, a servant’s entrance, heavily padlocked. They indicated the ground at their feet. All Owen could see was scuffed sand.

  ‘You can see they were carrying something when they came out. It was not heavy but it was…’ The tracker hesitated.

  ‘Like a goat,’ said the other tracker.

  ‘Yes. Wriggling.’

  For that, at any rate, Owen was thankful. He took the trackers back into the yard.

  ‘Are any of these men,’ he said, ‘the men who took her?’

  The trackers walked round looking at the men’s feet.

  ‘No,’ they said.

  ‘They were different sort of men,’ one of the trackers offered.

  ‘From the city?’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Bandits?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What sort of men, then?’

  The trackers conferred.

  ‘They came from the country,’ they said, ‘but are not from the country. Not now.’

  ‘They no longer work on the land?’

  ‘That is right.’

  The trackers went back to the scuffle marks and then began to walk off, heads bent, into the orange trees.

  Georgiades went over to the servants who had rushed in.

  ‘Those men my friends were talking about,’ he said: ‘they went in through the little door.’

  The servants looked at him dumbly.

  ‘It was locked. But you, I think, have the key.’

  ‘We don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘You use the door. You have the key.’

  ‘There can be more than one key,’ one of the servants objected.

  ‘My friends, when they get back, will be able to tell where they went to fetch the key. You could save them, and me, and the Mamur Zapt, a lot of time by telling us now where I can find those men—and the woman. You can also,’ he added, as the men showed no signs of responding, ‘save yourselves even more time: the time which you will spend in the caracol if you do not help the Mamur Zapt.’

  The servants looked distinctly uncomfortable but did not reply. They were the Pasha’s men and if they did something against his interests could expect a fate much worse than the caracol.

  Owen was just turning back to follow the trackers when he heard an unexpected noise. It came closer and closer and then into the yard swept a bright, shining motor-car. It was driven by a chauffeur and in the back was Zeinab’s father, Nuri Pasha.

  ‘Mon cher!’ cried Nuri, disconcerted but recovering. ‘What a surprise! What an agreeable surprise!’

  ‘It is indeed, cher Pasha! But tell me, dear friend, what is it that brings you here so far from Cairo on such a hot evening?’

  ‘Love,’ said Nuri firmly.

  ‘Love?’

  ‘Are you surprised? My friend, I would have thought it was obvious.’

  ‘For Miss Skinner?’

  ‘Who else?’

  Owen could think of quite a few others. However… ‘For Miss Skinner, of course. But then in that case, Pasha, perhaps you can tell me how you know she was here?’

  ‘She told me,’ said Nuri, wide-eyed.

  ‘Told you? When?’

  ‘When she borrowed my car,’ said Nuri, linking his arm, father-like, through Owen’s.

  ***

  ‘Well, of course, I wasn’t too happy about it, my dear fellow. After all! I knew Marbrouk’s feelings, well, let’s not say feelings—Marbrouk is a rough and ready fellow, it’s in the family, a bit too much of the Mameluke, I would say—let’s say urges with respect to Miss Skinner. Ought I to allow her to go alone? I did point this out to Enid—’

  ‘Enid?’

  ‘Miss Skinner. However, she felt my presence might be misconstrued and was positive that she could handle all eventualities, so in the end I was reluctantly persuaded. But then when the car came back—’

  ‘The car came back?’

  ‘Yes. Ali—that’s my chauffeur—was told it would not be needed. Well, my dear fellow—what was I to think? No business of mine, you will say, and of course you are right. On the other hand! A delicate lady, unused, perhaps, to our boisterous ways—well! And then I questioned my chauffeur and learned that it was not actually Miss Skinner herself who had dismissed him but some crude, rough fellows. Well, I was a teeny bit worried, I don’t mind admitting, and so—well here I am!’

  ‘Reassuring for her, no doubt. If, that is, she were here.’

  ‘Not here?’ Nuri stopped. He waved a hand towards the house.

  ‘Closed. Shuttered.’

  Nuri’s face hardened. ‘In that case, my dear fellow…’

  He produced a small pistol from his pocket.

  ‘Ali!’

  The chauffeur climbed out of the car. He was wearing pistols on both hips and had a dagger stuck in his belt. He reached back under the dashboard and produced a shotgun.

  ‘You stay where you are,’ said Owen, and ran off in the direction the trackers had taken.

  Through the orange trees he could see a little stone building. Georgiades was standing beside it. As Owen ran up, he picked up a huge stone and crashed it against the door.

  ‘Again!’ commanded a voice from inside.

  ‘Miss Skinner,’ said Owen: ‘are you all right?’

  There was a silence inside.

  ‘Why, it’s the ever-reliable Captain Owen! Perfectly, thank you. Well, perhaps not perfectly—’

  ‘Stand aside, my dear,’ said Nuri. ‘I am going to shoot out the lock.’

  ‘No you don’t!’ said Owen. ‘The bullets might go anywhere. You!’ he said to one of the constables. ‘Go back to the servants and get the key.’

  ‘Ali!’ said Nuri. ‘You go with him. In case they are slow. You don’t understand our ways, my dear fellow,’ he said apologetically to Owen. ‘They are likely to be loyal to Marbrouk and may need some encouragement. Are you all right, my dear?’ he said to the door.

  Miss Skinner chuckled.

  ‘Not only all right,’ she said, ‘but considerably flattered.’

  ‘Where are the trackers?’ Owen asked Georgiades.

  ‘There was a man here. He ran off. They’ll get him for you.’

  It took the constable, even with Ali’s support, some time. The trackers returned first. They were holding between them a man in the short, knee-length white shirt and turban of the tribesman. He seemed vaguely familiar.

  ‘Who has the key?’ asked Owen.

  ‘Abdul Mohammed,’ the man said sullenly.

  ‘Who is he?’

  Through the orange trees came a little crowd. In front of them were Ali and the constable, pushin
g a tall man in a white galabeyah.

  ‘That is Abdul Mohammed,’ said the man between the trackers.

  The procession came to a halt. Ali pushed Abdul Mohammed forward.

  ‘You have the key?’

  The man produced it reluctantly. Owen fitted it into the lock and opened the door.

  Miss Skinner emerged, dishevelled and dusty but unharmed.

  ‘Chérie!’ said Nuri optimistically.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Miss Skinner.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Owen. ‘Not hurt—or anything?’

  ‘Not hurt,’ said Miss Skinner; ‘nor anything.’

  ‘We’ll go back to the house.’ Owen indicated the man between the trackers. ‘Talk to him,’ he said to Georgiades. ‘Keep the rest of them here,’ he said to the constables.

  ‘Do you want us to find the others?’ asked the trackers.

  Owen hesitated. ‘Do you know how many there are?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Are they armed?’ Owen asked the man the trackers were holding.

  ‘Yes, effendi.’

  Owen looked at him more closely.

  ‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You are from Der el Bahari.’

  The man half nodded but said nothing.

  ‘We’ll go after them later,’ said Owen.

  It would be two against four. The trackers had guns and knew how to use them but the constables, used for city work only, were unarmed. Owen himself never carried a gun.

  As they went back through the trees they heard the sound of another motor-car approaching. It pulled up in front of the house and Marbrouk got out.

  ‘What is going on?’ he said.

  ‘You tell us,’ said Owen.

  He led the way into the house and sat Miss Skinner down on a divan. Despite her appearance of self-possession, she was, he thought, a little shaken.

  ‘Enid has been attacked,’ said Nuri.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Marbrouk.

  Nuri kept his hand in his pocket.

  ‘She needs some water,’ he said, ‘as anyone other than a savage would understand.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ said Miss Skinner.

  ‘What has been happening?’ asked Marbrouk. He looked around for his servants but they, of course, were being held elsewhere by the constables. He went away himself and returned with a glass of water.

  ‘Would you like to—wash up, fresh up?’ he asked Miss Skinner.

  ‘Perhaps I will,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘thank you.’

  She put down her glass and followed him out of the room.

  ‘A Mameluke!’ said Nuri. ‘A veritable Mameluke!’

  Marbrouk came back.

  ‘Please will someone tell me what has happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Miss Skinner has been attacked,’ said Owen. ‘In your house!’

  ‘But what was she doing in my house?’ said Marbrouk, bewildered.

  ‘Ah, what indeed!’ said Nuri.

  ‘Are you saying you did not know that she was here?’

  ‘Sauvage!’ said Nuri angrily.

  ‘Of course I did not know she was here! The last time I saw her was when she left with you. Is this one of your tricks, Nuri? Because let me tell you—’

  ‘Shut up!’ said Owen, and then, recollecting himself. ‘Pasha, I can check what you say with Miss Skinner,’ he warned.

  ‘Do so!’ cried Marbrouk. ‘Do so!’

  Something clicked inside Nuri’s pocket.

  ‘No nonsense!’ warned Owen.

  ‘There is no need for any foolishness,’ said Miss Skinner, returning. ‘It is as Mr Marbrouk says. He was unaware that I was returning.’

  ‘But why have you returned?’ cried Marbrouk.

  ‘Yes, why?’ said Nuri.

  ‘Without telling me! My dear Miss Skinner! I would have been here to receive you, there would have been no need—’

  ‘For what?’ asked Owen.

  Marbrouk went quiet. ‘I think I am owed an explanation,’ he said.

  Miss Skinner sighed.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you are.’

  ***

  ‘I was looking,’ she said to Owen, ‘for a calf.’

  ‘Calf?’

  ‘As to Cow. As to Cow of Hathor.’

  ‘What is this?’ said Nuri.

  ‘I have reason to believe—there were rumours in the United States—that a find had been made which almost equalled that of the remarkable Cow of Hathor. It had possibly even been part of the original tableau. There had been, it was said, not just a Cow but at least one Calf.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ said Owen. ‘Professor Naville is beyond reproach.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘but—or so the story goes—this was before Naville.’

  ‘Naville was the one who found it.’

  ‘Are archæologists ever the first to find anything in Egypt?’

  ‘You mean—’

  ‘The people of Der el Bahari,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘have a long tradition.’

  ‘But why, then,’ said Marbrouk, ‘do you not look for your Calf in Der el Bahari? Why come—like a thief—to my house?’

  ‘Because you are the Master of the village,’ said Miss Skinner.

  ‘The village is on my estate, certainly.’

  ‘I thought the villagers might well have approached you. It would be difficult to find a market for something as unique as this. Especially for ordinary villagers.’

  ‘I think you have been deceiving me, Miss Skinner,’ said Marbrouk.

  ‘In the interests of mankind,’ said Miss Skinner.

  ‘Am I to take it that your entry into the house was unauthorized?’ asked Owen.

  ‘Yes,’ said Marbrouk.

  ‘I am ready to face the consequences,’ said Miss Skinner.

  ‘You will,’ said Marbrouk.

  ‘Only if I am put on trial, I shall then feel obliged to reveal all I know about Mr Marbrouk’s collection. And how he came to assemble it.’

  ‘That does not worry me,’ said Marbrouk.

  ‘It will worry Captain Owen. And the Government. Both British,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘and Egyptian.’

  ‘We are left with the question of violence,’ said Owen, ‘the violence offered to Miss Skinner’s person.’

  ‘My servants were protecting my property.’

  ‘Are they your servants?’

  Marbrouk paused before replying. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I know nothing about all this. Except that my house has been broken into.’

  ‘Is it true, my dear,’ asked Nuri, ‘that you were looking for the Calf?’

  Miss Skinner rested her hand for a moment on his.

  ‘I am afraid, Mr Nuri, that it is. One of the things I regret is that I have made you an unknowing partner in my criminal activities.’

  ‘Unknowing, my dear Miss Skinner,’ said Nuri exuberantly, ‘but far from unwilling.’

  ***

  They were sitting outside on the verandah. A halo of insects surrounded the standard lamp. A few steps beyond the verandah it was pitch dark. The grasshoppers chirruped loudly and mingled with the distant noise of the frogs by the river. Occasionally, not sufficiently far away, there was the cry of a jackal.

  The servants, reluctantly released by Owen, kept the glasses well plied, although Owen himself did not drink much. He had decided that in the morning, he would have to go out after the other attackers. He would lead the party himself and supplement it with Nuri’s militant chauffeur. They would go early.

  ‘You Americans are a little unfair on us, my dear,’ Nuri was saying to Miss Skinner. ‘First you ruin our cotton trade and then you deny us the opportunity of compensating by exporting our antiquities.’

  ‘They are nationa
l treasures,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘part of your history.’

  ‘Cannot I do with my history as I want?’ asked Nuri. ‘It is mine, after all.’

  ‘It is more than yours; it is the world’s.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Nuri, sighing.

  ‘Everything has its price,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘or so some people say. Many of us believe, however, that some things are priceless.’

  ‘You don’t think,’ said Nuri, ‘that perhaps you could keep your arguments at home?’

  Miss Skinner laughed. A little later, taking advantage of a moment when Nuri and Marbrouk were deep in conversation, she said quietly to Owen:

  ‘Would it be possible for me to question the man you took yesterday? The man who was guarding me?’

  ‘You don’t speak the language.’

  ‘I was wondering if I could borrow Mr Nuri for the occasion.’

  Owen at first refused. Later, having thought about it, he told her that he had changed his mind and that she could talk to the man in the morning.

  ***

  The trackers awoke him when it was still dark. By the time they were out among the trees it was sufficiently light for the trackers to see the ground, although the sun had not yet risen. It was cold enough to make him glad he wore a jacket, and the leaves as they touched his face were heavy with dew.

  The two trackers walked ahead. Behind them came Owen, Georgiades, Ali and one of the constables, all somehow armed. Behind them were the other constables.

  The trackers moved swiftly, hardly bothering, it seemed, to look at the ground. Most of the time they were scanning ahead of them.

  Through the trees a large wooden shed appeared. Owen halted his men while the trackers went ahead. He lost sight of them among the trees. A little later he saw them beckoning and led his men up cautiously.

  A man was lying on the ground outside the shed. The tracker who had hit him kept his bare foot pressed firmly on the man’s back but there was no sign of movement. The man had been keeping watch; not well enough.

  Inside the shed three men were sleeping. It was easy.

  The trackers slipped into the shed, kicked their guns away and then stood over them. The door creaked as they opened it and the men woke up but by then it was too late.

  The constables rushed in, turned them on to their faces, took their belts and tied their feet loosely together; feet before hands so that they could not run away. Their hands would be occupied keeping their woollen drawers up.