The Camel of Destruction Page 8

  ‘The case would never be called.’

  ‘You see. I’m concerned only with political matters—’

  ‘This is a political matter,’ Mr. Sidki declared.

  He looked at Owen closely.

  ‘You begin to worry me, Captain Owen. Can it be that you have received instructions…?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘I am glad to hear it. If it is true. It would, of course, be something we would have to take up in the House. I hope it needn’t come to that.’

  Owen shrugged. ‘You must act as you think fit, Mr. Sidki.’

  ‘You see, it is becoming a matter of some urgency. That agreement or arrangement or whatever it is—that understanding which no one outside the Bank understands—with the Department of Agriculture—’

  ‘You are well informed.’

  ‘Yes. We are.’

  Unexpectedly, Mr. Sidki hesitated.

  ‘Or were. Until recently.’

  ‘How recently, Mr. Sidki?’

  Mr. Sidki’s eyes met his.

  ‘Until Osman Fingari was killed.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Killed, Captain Owen?’

  Mr. Fehmi was shocked.

  ‘Surely not! I thought we had agreed that this was to be a case of suicide.’

  ‘We didn’t agree it was “to be” anything. We thought it was a case of suicide.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course. That’s what I meant.’

  The Parquet lawyer looked at Owen with injured brown eyes.

  ‘How could it be anything else? He took prussic acid. No shadow of doubt! The post-mortem—your own colleague, Captain Owen—’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’ve no doubt about that.’

  ‘Then wherein lies your doubt? We found the bottle beside him in the wastepaper basket. A small brown bottle,’ said Mr. Fehmi in injured tones, ‘which he had bought the day before. Bought it himself, Captain Owen. We found the shop. Descriptions fit. Why all this complication?’

  ‘I am merely reporting an accusation.’

  ‘From whom, Captain Owen? From whom?’

  Mr. Fehmi’s shoulders bowed, as if they had suddenly been called on to support the weight of the whole guilty world in addition to the weight of Cairo’s guilty world, the burden which they already carried.

  ‘I am not at liberty to say.’

  Mr. Fehmi sat back. ‘An anonymous informant? Did he produce any evidence in support of his claim?’

  ‘Well, no—’

  Mr. Fehmi shook his head pityingly. ‘Captain Owen!’

  Owen felt called on to justify himself.

  ‘The charge came from someone whom neither you nor I can afford to disregard.’

  ‘Ah well, in that case—’ said Mr. Fehmi. ‘That’s different. That’s quite different. But I still—I don’t see how it could be anything other than suicide, Captain Owen. He was in a disturbed state of mind—I haven’t gone into that side, you requested me not to, but I’ve heard sufficient—’

  ‘He was certainly in a disturbed state of mind.’

  ‘He bought the bottle, he took it to his office, he almost certainly drank it in his office. He didn’t drink it before and he didn’t go out of his office. That’s where he was found, with the bottle beside him—’

  Mr. Fehmi shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment that any could question.

  ‘Did anyone go in?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve checked?’

  ‘I’ve checked.’

  ‘Coffee? Did he have coffee?’

  ‘Yes. I used that to establish time of death.’

  ‘Presumably Abdul Latif took it in to him?’

  ‘The orderly? Yes. But, Captain Owen, what are you suggesting? That the orderly poisoned him? Administered it with the coffee, perhaps? The taste so frightful that he couldn’t tell the difference?’

  Fearing that he had gone too far, Mr. Fehmi patted Owen apologetically on the knee. ‘A jest,’ he said, ‘a jest!’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Killed?’ He shook his head slowly but firmly. ‘No, Captain Owen, I think not.’

  He rose from his chair.

  ‘I suggest you go back to your informant and tell him that he is mistaken.’

  He reached out his hand in farewell.

  ‘There is not a shred of evidence to connect this sad event with anyone other than Mr. Fingari himself.’

  ‘Not now that you have removed his diary,’ said Owen.

  Mr. Fehmi fell back into his seat.

  ‘Removed his diary? Captain Owen! What are you saying? What are you saying, please? I reject this imputation. I—I—’

  ‘Do you deny that the diary is in your possession?’

  ‘Deny it? Of course I deny it!’

  ‘I would not answer so quickly, Mr. Fehmi. As the investigating official, you have every right to remove a piece of evidence. What you do not have is the power to withhold it.’

  Mr. Fehmi licked his lips.

  ‘I—I deny absolutely—Really, Captain Owen, this is outrageous!’

  ‘I would like to see it, please.’

  ‘I have not got it!’

  ‘It is no longer in your possession?’

  ‘It never was in my possession!’

  ‘You took it from Fingari’s desk.’

  ‘This is—this is quite unacceptable—’

  ‘I hope not. What would be unacceptable would be for you to keep it from me.’

  ‘I object most strongly, Captain Owen—’

  ‘Unacceptable,’ said Owen with emphasis. ‘By which I mean that my Administration would not be prepared to accept it.’

  Mr. Fehmi licked his lips again. Owen could see that he was weighing the rival strengths of the Minister-backed Parquet and the British Administration-backed Mamur Zapt. But this was precisely the sort of political calculation that Mr. Fehmi was not good at. He hung there uncertainly.

  Owen decided to make it easier for him.

  ‘I am not suggesting that you part with the diary. What I had in mind was merely that as colleagues working together we sit down here and share our impressions of the case, with the diary, and other evidence, naturally in front of us.’

  ‘That—that would be more acceptable,’ said Mr. Fehmi.

  He still appeared, however, to be in difficulty.

  ‘It would be in confidence, of course,’ said Owen. ‘There is no reason why anyone other than the two of us should ever know that our—our conversation had taken place.’

  Some, at least, of Mr. Fehmi’s difficulties were disappearing.

  ‘And each of us, of course, will have our areas of reticence, where we would prefer the other not to press us.’

  Mr. Fehmi visibly relaxed.

  ‘I think I could cooperate on that basis,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But—but there’s still a difficulty. I would have to borrow the book back.’

  ‘Borrow it back? Who has it, then?’

  Mr. Fehmi hesitated.

  ‘Come, Mr. Fehmi, there has to be some basis of trust between us.’

  Mr. Fehmi still hesitated.

  ‘Cannot you at least tell me at the general level?’

  Mr. Fehmi took the plunge.

  ‘It is with the Minister,’ he said.

  ‘Minister? Which Minister? Parquet or Agriculture?’

  Mr. Fehmi hung his head.

  ‘That—that is an area of reticence,’ he said.

  ***

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful, darling,’ said Owen.

  ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic,’ said Zeinab. ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Oh yes, oh yes. It’s—it’s just the price.’

  ‘If you want good things you have t
o pay for them,’ said Zeinab. ‘Anyway, I’m the one who’s paying, not you.’

  ‘Yes, but if—when we get married—’

  ‘You can pay,’ said Zeinab generously.

  ‘That’s just it. I’m not sure that I’ll be able to. My salary, you know—’

  ‘Get a higher one.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. You’re a clever chap, everybody knows that. I think you’re brilliant—usually, that is. You don’t value yourself as you should, that’s the problem. Why don’t you just ask them?’

  ‘It doesn’t work in that way. Anyway, I’d have to be promoted to Field Marshal before we could afford hats like that.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Zeinab.

  ‘Look, does it matter that much? If we love each other, I mean?’

  ‘Money certainly does matter,’ said Zeinab.

  ***

  If the formal gardens in which the Ministries were set owed something in design to France, the techniques their gardeners employed were traditionally Egyptian. An intricate system of irrigation channels connected the gardens to a waterwheel on the river bank which every so often scooped up water from the river and fed it through the gardens.

  This had recently been supplemented by modern pipelines and stopcocks but the approach remained essentially the same: to water by flooding rather than by sprinkling.

  Every Thursday the men from the Water Board came round and opened the stopcocks and flooded the gardens, including the lawns, to a depth of two or three inches. The waters soon subsided, leaving both ground and, more to the point in their view, gardeners fresh.

  The event soon became part of the regular entertainment of the city. Mothers brought their children to play, men brought their donkeys to drink and birds in their hundreds flocked down to paddle and bathe and generally take the waters. Owen this morning counted bulbuls and sparrows and weavers and warblers, bee-eaters and hoopoes and the usual vulgar crowd of palm-doves.

  A little group of men was gathered around some sickly-looking shrubs in a corner of the garden and as Owen went past there was much shaking of heads going on.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ someone was saying. He looked up and saw Owen. ‘Oh, hallo, old boy.’

  It was the Chairman of the Agricultural Society. He straightened up and dusted his hands.

  ‘We’ll just have to try it, I suppose,’ he said.

  He walked along the path to join Owen.

  ‘Problems?’ asked Owen.

  The Chairman grimaced. ‘The Khedive got these plants in especially from Nepal. We didn’t think they’d take. But he expects us to do something about it.’

  ‘Fertilizer?’ said Owen, banging his head against the horizon of his horticultural knowledge.

  ‘The whole environment’s not right. Of course, what we could do is take them out and put them under glass and create an artificial environment, but…’

  He shrugged and dismissed the topic.

  ‘Glad to see you at our meeting the other day. A breakthrough, you know, a real breakthrough.’

  ‘The new seed certainly does seem to have advantages.’

  ‘It could make all the difference.’

  ‘That chap from the Ministry had doubts, though.’

  ‘They always have doubts. Listen to them and nothing would ever get done. Until we came along nothing ever was done. Do you know the story of the Society?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, it was set up by the Khedive. The old boy’s interested in horticulture—he’s always getting things like those shrubs—and he reckoned that what was needed was some body which would encourage research and spread knowledge. Well, he talked and talked, but no one would listen to him and in the end he decided to set one up himself.’

  ‘Good for him!’

  ‘Just what I say! You know, I’ve got a lot of time for the old boy. Others haven’t, I know, but I speak as I find. And I’ve always found him very positive. Full of ideas, you know.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Not just on horticulture. Roads, development, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. A real force for modernization. Surprising, that, isn’t it? A hereditary ruler and all that. But he’s on our side, you know. A real modernizer.’

  ‘In some things, yes.’

  ‘Politics? Ah well, we’d better not go into that. Anyway, he set up the Society and from that moment we’ve never looked back. Retains an interest in it, you know. Prince Hafiz is on the Board. Did you know that? A great asset.’

  ‘I’m sure. But, tell me, where does the Society get its money from? It has such a range of interests, does so many things—’

  ‘I know. Terrific, isn’t it? Sometimes I’m surprised myself. Well, it makes it.’

  ‘Makes it?’

  ‘Yes. The old boy said, when he set it up, that he didn’t want to keep pouring money in. After the first lot, that was it. So we had to jolly well make it. And we have!’

  ‘But surely there is a constant need for capital—’

  ‘Oh, various people have chipped in. The Cotton-Growers’ Association, some of the big firms, the banks—’

  ‘You don’t publish any accounts, I understand?’

  ‘Why should we? It’s our business, old boy. Private matter entirely.’

  ‘It’s just that the scale—’

  ‘What’s wrong with that? Tribute to our success, old boy. Got the whole country moving.’

  ‘It makes people ask questions.’

  The Chairman stopped and turned towards Owen.

  ‘Who? Who’s asking questions?’

  ‘The politicians.’

  The Chairman dismissed them with a gesture.

  ‘Rabble-rousers. Ask a lot of questions, don’t ever actually do anything. They’re riding on our backs, you know. We’re carrying them—and they’re making us pay for the pleasure! Rich, isn’t it?’

  ‘If they’re asking questions, why not give them some answers?’

  ‘I say, old boy, that’s a bit radical!’ There was a little pause. ‘What are they asking questions about?’

  ‘The tie-up between the Society and the Agricultural Bank for a start.’

  ‘One of the most imaginative things the Government’s ever done. You heard Hiscock the other day? Free the fellahin and then lend them the money to farm for themselves. It’s transformed agriculture, believe me!’

  ‘I gather there’s a question about the conditions on which the money is lent.’

  ‘The rate of interest? Don’t know much about it. But I’ll tell you this: however high it is, it’s nothing like as high as that charged by the money-lenders they’ve been going to up to now!’

  ‘Not just the interest: the seed’s got to be approved, I gather.’

  ‘Quite right, too. The seed they were using…No wonder the yield was so low!’

  ‘The Society vets the seed, I gather.’

  ‘Yes, that’s one of our services.’

  ‘And favours its own.’

  ‘It’s the best. You should see the reports from our labs.’

  ‘That carries risks, though.’

  ‘Risks? What sort of risks?’

  ‘Political risks.’

  ‘Those damned politicians again?’

  ***

  Barclay went past as Owen sat waiting for Paul.

  ‘Can I catch you a moment?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Barclay slid into the seat opposite.

  ‘It’s about that road. You got me worried the other day, you know, when you said someone might be buying ahead in the Derb Aiah area. That’s a long way ahead. It’s sort of second phase. They’d have to be pretty sure the first phase, the north–south road, was going to go ahe
ad. Well…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There’s an application in to the Ministry to be allowed to proceed with the development.’

  ‘The north-south road? Going down the east side? Through the Old City?’

  Barclay nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said, his eyes solemn behind his little round, gold-framed glasses.

  ‘But I thought it wasn’t ever going to happen?’

  ‘It keeps coming up. It’s just that we never give permission and that there’s never any money. That’s the important point, really. Nobody gives a damn whether we give permission or not.’

  ‘Well, there certainly isn’t likely to be any money this time.’

  ‘No-o.’ But Barclay sounded doubtful.

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘We’ve had to make provision for it this year in our budget.’

  ‘I thought you never gave permission?’

  ‘We don’t. We won’t,’ Barclay assured him.

  ‘Then why is it in the budget?’

  ‘The Minister said it had to be. It will be struck out later, of course. All the same…’

  ‘I don’t like it. Once these things get on paper, they never get off it.’ Barclay stood up.

  ‘Just thought you’d like to know,’ he said.

  ***

  Paul pooh-poohed the idea.

  ‘Not a hope! I can tell you the attitude to the budget this year: chop anything that moves, even if it only wriggles. A project of this size? Ha ha!’

  ‘I don’t like it. Once it’s in the budget—’

  ‘That doesn’t mean to say it will ever happen. There are a lot of things we include in the budget just so that we can cut them out. They always want saving, so it’s as well to have something you can offer.’

  ‘It’s a dangerous game, though, Paul. Suppose they nodded it through?’

  ‘In a fit of absence of mind, you mean, like we acquired the colonies? There’ll be no absence of mind this time, not in this year’s budget round, I can assure you!’

  ‘Yes but, taken together with this application for planning permission—’

  ‘I don’t know what that’s about,’ Paul confessed. ‘Perhaps the Khedive’s behind it and they’re telling him to put it in just to keep his mind off important things.’