The Mamur Zapt and the Girl in Nile. Michael Pearce
held up the third finger. The Chief kept his eyes fixed on it.
‘To bring you information, Your Highness. Information about the body.’
‘Good.’ The Prince patted him on the back. ‘Good fellow! You have learned your lesson.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
He seemed uncertain, however.
‘Well?’ said the Prince. ‘What is it?’
‘I—I—there is a thing I don’t quite understand, Your Highness.’
‘Yes? What is it?’
‘The body, Your Highness. You said you wanted information about the body, Your Highness.’
‘Yes?’
The District Chief hesitated, then took the plunge.
‘What sort of information, Your Highness? I will go and see the body if you wish and describe it to you. In detail, naturally. But—’
He looked uncomfortably to Owen for support.
‘No, no, no!’ said the Prince hastily. ‘Not that sort of thing!’
‘Then—?’
‘The body has disappeared,’ said Owen.
‘Disappeared?’
‘Gone. From the sandbank where it was apparently found.’
‘Gone?’ said the District Chief, as if he could not believe his ears. ‘Gone?’
‘That’s right. When I got there it had gone.’
‘Abu?’ said the Chief faintly. ‘Ibrahim?’
‘We got there together. It had already gone. Ibrahim rather doubted it had been there in the first place.’
The Chief unexpectedly went ashen. He bowed his head between his hands.
‘God!’ he said. ‘God!’
‘I want to find it,’ said the Prince. ‘Quickly, and before anyone else does. Got it?’
Unusually, there was a meeting on the British side about how to handle it. Garvin was there, Commandant of the Cairo Police and Owen’s nominal superior; McPhee, Deputy Commandant, earnest, concerned and straightforward—too straightforward by half to be a Cairo policeman and far too straightforward for something like this; Paul, an aide-de-camp of the Consul-General’s; and Owen.
The Consul-General usually steered clear of too direct an involvement in Egyptian policing. Garvin reported formally to the Khedive—and the Consul-General was punctilious about the forms. He was particularly careful of any involvement with the Mamur Zapt, which was why Owen not only reported formally to the Khedive but was nominally subordinate to Garvin.
It was, therefore, unusual to have a meeting of this sort. But then, as Paul, chairing the meeting on behalf of the Consul-General, made clear, the circumstances were unusual.
‘It’s not every day that an heir to the throne gets involved in something like this.’
‘Is he an heir to the throne?’
‘One of many. The Khedive has a number of sons and all of them see themselves as potential heirs.’
‘Where does this one fit in?’
‘He is the son of the Khedive’s third wife, so not high up in the stakes. On the other hand, his mother is still a favourite of the Khedive’s, which is often significant. He is able and energetic, which makes him stand out among the Khedive’s progeny. And front runners in a thing of this sort are unfortunately prone to accidents.’
‘He seemed a bit of a playboy to me,’ said McPhee.
‘That car, of course. But look at it another way: as an indication of Narouz’s interest in things modern and things Western.’
‘I see.’
‘Yes. I thought you would. The Consul-General, and Al-Lurd before him, see him as a man England could do business with.’
Al-Lurd was Lord Cromer, the man who had run Egypt for over twenty years before the present incumbent. If two such people, the one popular with Conservatives, the other a nominee of the new Liberal Government in London, took that view, the Prince had a lot going for him.
‘It would be unfortunate,’ said Paul, ‘if he were to be derailed at this point.’
There was a little silence.
‘Is that a directive?’ asked Owen.
‘A hint, rather. Call it: putting you in the picture. Alerting you to the position of His Majesty’s Government.’
‘As strong as that?’ said Garvin.
‘I can relax it a bit, provided you’ve got the general idea. If he’s done anything really wicked I don’t think HMG would be prepared to go out on a limb on his behalf. There are, after all, other possible candidates. But if it’s only mildly wicked we would feel it a pity to be too legalistic.’
‘What counts as only mildly wicked?’
‘I don’t think I’d like to give you a general answer. These things have to be decided in the light of circumstances.’
‘I’m not sure I find that very helpful,’ said Garvin. ‘What exactly is to be our position?’
‘Aloof,’ said Paul. ‘Aloof, but watching.’
‘Not get too close to it? Well, that’s probably sensible.’
‘Should be manageable,’ said Garvin. ‘After all, it’s Parquet business really.’
‘Quite. The police will assist the Parquet and work under their direction as usual. But that’s at the local level. There’s no need for senior involvement.’
‘I quite agree,’ said Garvin. ‘No point in that at all.’
No fool he.
‘McPhee’s involved already,’ said Owen.
‘I think he can drop out now.’
‘The Prince thinks he’s involved.’
‘The Prince, I believe, has changed his mind.’
‘Since yesterday?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’
Someone else been making telephone calls?
‘I think that’s very reasonable,’ said Garvin. ‘McPhee’s got enough demands on his time already. When all is said and done, this is just a straightforward crime and we wouldn’t normally put him on to something like this.’
‘We don’t even know it is a crime,’ Paul pointed out.
‘No, no, of course not,’ said Garvin, hurriedly changing tack. ‘Could be just an accident.’
‘It’s for the Parquet to decide how it wants to treat it. Crime or accident.’
He looked at Owen.
‘They’ve put Mahmoud on to it, haven’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘How will be play it?’
‘Straight.’
‘Mahmoud’s a good chap,’ said McPhee.
‘Mahmoud’s going to have to take some hard decisions,’ said Paul.
He finished his coffee.
‘Which