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European clothes, proved to be a good-looking Egyptian with a marked resemblance to Egypt’s prime minister. He spoke perfect English, but his phrasing was French.
    “The cause of Sir Denis’ delay,” he told Brian, “is unknown. But his movements are always unpredictable. We expect him hourly. He appears like the
jinn.
There is a draft of air, a door opens, and Sir Denis Nayland Smith is with us.”
    “That’s good fun for the staff!” Brian grinned. “I suppose the moment he appears I’m expected to report?”
    Mr. Ahmad shrugged slightly. “As soon as possible.”
    “Of course. I mean he wouldn’t want me to hang around the hotel?”
    “Most certainly not. You know him. Judge for yourself. Provided you don’t leave Cairo, so that I can find you at short notice—it is sufficient. But a word of warning. If you are disposed to wander in the older parts of the city—”
    “Take a dragoman? Now listen, Mr. Ahmad. Is that an order from Sir Denis?”
    “But certainly not! It is merely a suggestion.”
    “Meaning I can do as I like? You see, I don’t favor the idea of being taken in tow by a guide. I like to find my own way, go where I please, and stay as long as I want to.”
    Mr. Ahmad smiled a dazzling smile. ‘The true sentiments of your freedom-loving country! Please yourself.
    “But take care. European and American travelers are not too popular in certain districts. If any trouble should start, take cover.”
    “Thank you.”
    When, a short time later, Brian set out, brushing off the beggars, the guides, and the vendors of scarabs and amulets, and trying to brush off the flies, he looked up to a fleckless sky and found, paradoxically, that he was no longer unhappy.
    He wondered if the atmosphere of Cairo had some magical soothing quality; for he seemed, now, to be prepared for whatever lay in store for him. He had suddenly become a fatalist. If he had been made the victim of some mysterious plot, it didn’t matter. The plotters had gained nothing so far, and he was living in luxury. If Lola didn’t answer his letter, never mind. He had had a good time with her in London. He wondered if the mood would last, or if later there would be a sharp reaction.
    Sauntering across the Esbekîyeh, he was deeply interested in all he saw, and he went on into a street bisected by a maze of narrower streets, all teeming with noisy humanity. He was in the Mûski, artery of many bazaars. Beggars and stallkeepers buzzed around him like flies around a honey pot. He smilingly ignored them, which the head hall porter had told him was the best method. From passers-by who wore European dress, and therefore might speak English, he inquired the way to the Khân Khalîl, where, the same authority had informed him, swords, daggers, silk robes, amber mouthpieces, and other colorful products were on view.
    And presently he found it. The hall porter had advised him, if he wished to make any purchases, to consult a certain Achmed es-Salah, whose shop anyone would point out. (“He sells very good cigarettes.”) It proved to resemble nothing so much as an artificial cave. The venerable Achmed sat in the entrance smoking, and at sight of the card that Brian had brought along he waved him to a chair and offered coffee and cigarettes.
    Brian had a low opinion of the sirupy Arab coffee, but he found the Egyptian cigarettes, with their unfamiliar aroma, a pleasant change from the American variety. He asked if he could buy some.
    Achmed reached behind him, opened a drawer, and produced a flat tin box containing a hundred. Smilingly he began to explain that only from him could these cigarettes be obtained. But his customer’s attention was wandering. Farther back in the shadows of the shop a female figure was vaguely visible to Brian—a girl who held a veil around the lower part of her face. She appeared to be watching him. He glanced away again.
    “I’ll take the cigarettes,” he told Achmed. “If I want more I’ll write and send