The Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet Read Online Free PDF Page B

retired into the background.
    “Good,”
said Nuri, sipping his tea.
    He
put the cup back in the saucer.
    “And
now, what can I do for you two gentlemen?”
    “If it would
not distress you,” said Mahmoud, “I would like to hear your account of what
happened in the Place de l’Opéra.”
    “Of course,
dear boy,” said Nuri. “I am only too glad to be able to assist the Parquet.
Especially,” he smiled, “in the circumstances.”
    He seemed,
however, to be in no hurry to begin. His eyes wandered across the flowerbeds to
the other side of the lawn. “Beautiful!” he whispered.
    Owen
thought at first that he was referring to the freesia or the stocks, or perhaps
to the bougainvillaea in bloom along the wall which surrounded the garden, but
as he followed the direction of Nuri’s gaze he saw that the Pasha was looking
at a young peasant girl who was walking along a raised path just beyond the
wall with a tall jar on her head.
    “Beautiful,”
breathed Nuri again.
    “If
I was younger,” he said regretfully, “I’d send someone to fetch her. Those
girls, when they are washed, are very good in bed. They regard an orgasm as a
visitation from Allah. When I was young—” He went into graphic detail.
    The story
came to an end and Nuri sat for a moment sunk in the memory of past pleasures.
    Owen
stretched out a hand towards the cucumber sandwiches. The shadow of a kite hawk
fell on the table and he looked up hurriedly, but the hawk was wheeling far
above. He helped himself to the sandwich. Sometimes, at the Sporting Club, the
hawks would snatch the food out of your very hand.
    Mahmoud
ventured a little cough.
    “The Place
de l’Opéra,” he murmured.
    Nuri
affected a start.
    “I
am so sorry,” he said. “Monsieur le Parquet does right to recall us to our
business.” He looked at Mahmoud with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I hope
my reminiscences did not bore you?”
    “Oh no,”
protested Mahmoud. “Not at all.”
    “Ah? Well,
in that case perhaps you would like to hear about the peasant girl on one of my
estates. She—”
    He stopped
with a grin.
    “Or
perhaps not. You are busy men. And it is not every day that one receives a visit from the
Mamur Zapt.”
    “I shall
enjoy reading your memoirs,” said Owen.
    “I am
afraid,” said Nuri, with real regret, “that the best bits have to be left out. Even in Egypt.”
    “The Place
de l’Opéra,” murmured Mahmoud doggedly.
    “The
Place de l’Opéra,” said Nuri. “Just so.”
    Even
then he shot off at a tangent.
    “The
case,” he said. “How is it going?”
    “All
right,” said Mahmoud, caught off guard. “We are making progress.”
    “Ah?
What have you found out?”
    “We are
only at the beginning,” said Mahmoud reluctantly. “Nothing,
then?”
    “We
are holding a man.”
    “The fellah?”
    “Yes.”
    Nuri
waved a dismissive hand.
    “A
tool,” he said.
    Mahmoud
rallied determinedly.
    “A
number of points have emerged from my inquiries,” he said, “some of which
are interesting and which I would like to check. Against your
account.”
    “Oh?”
said Nuri. “What interesting points?”
    “That,
I shall not be altogether certain of until I have heard your account,” said
Mahmoud blandly.
    Nuri
threw up his hands with a laugh.
    “You
have beaten me!” he conceded. It was evidently his way to play games.
    He
signalled to one of the servants, who came up and rearranged the rug round the
old man’s shoulders.
    “I
will tell you what happened,” said Nuri, “although I am afraid it will be a
very sketchy account.”
    “Even that
may help,” said Mahmoud “Yes,” said Nuri sceptically. “It may.”
    He
leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
    “I
had been meeting colleagues—former colleagues, I should say— in the Hotel
Continental. When the meeting was over I went to find my arabeah. It was not
there, so I went out into the Place to look for it. Suddenly—” his eyes
opened—“I saw a man in front of me