The Donkey-Vous mz-3

by Michael Pearce

“Which one it was?”

  Mr. Colthorpe Hartley nodded. “All look alike to me.”

  “Perhaps it will come.”

  “Been trying. Know it’s important.”

  Owen tried some of the usual cues.

  “Any distinguishing features? Face? Hands? Marks? Scars, for instance? Personal jewelry? Rings? Clothes?”

  “These fellows all dress the same.”

  “You saw him walking. Think of him walking.”

  Mr. Colthorpe Hartley thought. After a while he shook his head.

  “Not that,” he said.

  If not that, then something. Owen hardly dared to breathe. “Nearly got it,” said Mr. Colthorpe Hartley after a while. He thought on.

  “Gone again,” he said.

  “Would it help if you saw them? Would you like me to arrange a parade?”

  Colthorpe Hartley shook his head vigorously, possibly remembering Mahmoud’s reconstruction.

  “Good God, no!” he said.

  “Hello, Daddy,” said Lucy Colthorpe Hartley. “Are you helping Captain Owen?”

  “Trying to.”

  “Good!” said Lucy, sinking into a chair. “I’ve delivered my card. What a sweat! I’ve lost all mine but Mummy had some of mine spare.”

  “Not going to get it,” said Mr. Colthorpe Hartley. “Will come tomorrow.”

  “If it does, let me know,” said Owen.

  “Will do.”

  He levered himself out of his chair and went off shaking his head.

  “Poor Daddy!” said Lucy, looking after him. “He doesn’t remember so well these days, not since-”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, he’s much better. He’s getting better all the time. And he usually does remember things in the end.”

  “We’ll keep hoping.”

  The vendors jostled for Lucy’s attention. This time the strawberry-seller won. Lucy stretched out a hand toward the strawberries.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Owen hastily, remembering.

  The meeting had already gone on for some time. It was being chaired by Saunders, a Scot from the Ministry of Public Works, who was proceeding painfully slowly through the business, referring meticulously at every stage to a vast sheaf of papers assembled for him by the Coptic clerk to the committee, consulting at every turn the maps and diagrams spread out on the table in front of them. There was also Martin, another Scot, representing, however, the main contractors, Aird and Co., two civil servants from the Ministry, both Copts, Paul from the Consulate-General (what he was doing there Owen could not figure out) and Owen himself.

  What he was doing there Paul alone knew. He had rung up Owen the day before saying there was a meeting he would like Owen to attend.

  “But I don’t know anything about that sort of thing,” he had said.

  “You don’t have to. All you have to do is come in on cue.”

  “But I-”

  “I’ll tell you when. It will be pretty clear anyway.”

  “But what am I supposed to be saying?”

  “You’re supporting me. You’re supposed to be the voice of political wisdom.”

  “I thought you were?”

  “I am. But there are times when it is as well to have an independent voice saying the same thing. I’ll meet you half an hour before the meeting and explain it to you.”

  But in the event Paul had been held up at the Consulate-General and there had been no time for him to give the briefing. He had slipped into his chair only the minute before the meeting started (much to Owen’s relief) and had just had time to mutter to Owen “You support me,” before the Chairman opened the meeting.

  The subject of the meeting was the issuing of the remaining contracts for the next phase of construction at the Aswan Dam. The main ones had already been issued, mostly going to Aird and Co., but there were some subcontracts still to be placed for ancillary works. The most substantial of these was for the construction of a masonry apron downstream of the dam sluices.

  “Of course we could do this at the same time as we’re doing the others,” said the man from Aird and Co.

  “Haven’t you got enough on your plate as it is?” asked the Chairman.

  “There are advantages in doing the two together. There would be men and equipment already there.”

  “Would there be economies, then?” asked one of the civil servants.

  “Oh, certainly.”

  “Would they be reflected in the tender price?”

  “Up to a point, yes.”

  “That’s funny,” said Paul, “because the price Aird and Co. are tendering at is quite a bit higher than some of the other tenders we have received.”

  “You can always be undercut,” said the man from Aird and Co., “by fly-by-night outfits. If you’ll take my advice you’ll have nothing to do with any of them.”

  “Dassin, Laporte et Lebrun are hardly a fly-by-night outfit,” said Paul.

  The man from Aird and Co. made a dismissive gesture. “They’ve not been doing too well lately on some of their contracts in Turkey. Anyway, for a job like this it’s experience in Egypt that counts. The Nile can be a tricky river.”

  “They’re quite a lot cheaper,” said one of the civil servants.

  “Yes, but when you think of price you’ve got to think of quality too.”

  “We ought to be able to specify quality.”

  “Yes, but if you’re underfunded you might not be able to deliver the quality in the time available. This is an important part of the works. We can’t afford to have a delay in completion.”

  “I thought we were already running behind time on the main work?” said Paul.

  “Oh, surely not,” said the man from Aird and Co. “Not by much, anyway.”

  “Can we check?” asked Paul. “We’ve got the schedules there.”

  “I don’t think we need bother,” said the Chairman.

  “I think if you give it to Aird and Co. you’ll be pretty satisfied.”

  “We’ve certainly been satisfied up to now,” said the Chairman.

  “Yes,” said Paul, “but there are other considerations.”

  “Really?”

  “Political ones.”

  “I think you’ll find,” said the man from Aird and Co., “that there’s a lot of support for Aird and Co. back home.”

  “I’m sure there is. But we have to take an international view.”

  “Do you? I’m not sure a lot of people at home would think that. Wasn’t I reading in The Times just before I came out here that some questions have been asked in the House about the Foreign Office failing to support British industry abroad?”

  “I hardly think Aird and Co. are in a position to complain of lack of support when they have landed the lion’s share of the contracts.”

  “Ah, well,” said the man from Aird and Co. with a broad smile, “quality will tell.”

  Paul smiled too.

  “I think it does tell,” he said, “and will go on doing so. All the same, it would be unfortunate if because of its very success Aird and Co. began to suffer through being too- exposed.”

  The man from Aird and Co. looked thoughtful.

  “You think so?”

  “A question of proportion-that is all.”

  “But such a small contract-comparatively-”

  “Because it is small,” said Paul, “that makes it all the better.”

  “Well, yes, that’s certainly true, if you see it that way.”

  “You wouldn’t have to give up much. And Aird and Co. might get quite a lot of benefit.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we would wish to take a responsible view-”

  “I’m sure you would. And it’s because of that that I’ve brought Captain Owen along this morning. The Mamur Zapt, I should explain, is responsible for law and order in the city. He will be able to tell us about some of the present tensions in Cairo, the political scene, Nationalist pressure-” He pau
sed invitingly.

  Owen responded to his cue and talked briefly about the current political scene in Egypt: the growing strength of nationalism, the rise of the Nationalist Party, increasing resentment of foreigners (“Why, only recently they went so far as to kidnap a foreign businessman: a Frenchman, fortunately”), mounting hostility to wealth passing out of the country, as the Egyptians saw it, in the form of lucrative contracts awarded abroad. In this situation it was only too easy for unscrupulous interests, too often, regrettably, easily identifiable with foreign powers (“Shocking!” said Paul, “shocking!”), to stir up trouble.

  “And the trouble with that,” said Paul, coming in smoothly, “is that it could so easily have repercussions on agreed programs of development, which would be in no one’s interest.”

  “Quite so,” said the man from Aird and Co.

  In the circumstances, Paul went on, it was only prudent to head off trouble, not to spoil the ship for a ha’porth of tar, to cast a little bread upon the waters, etc., etc. Paul, who despised cliches, was a master of them when he chose and felt the opposition deserved.

  “Give the dogs a bone or two to fight over,” said the man from Aird and Co.

  “Exactly,” said Paul.

  The upshot was that the contract for constructing the masonry apron went to the French firm and another, smaller, contract to an Italian firm.

  “Three countries involved, I don’t think anyone can complain about that,” said the Chairman.

  “But not Egypt,” said one of the civil servants.

  “They’re hardly ready yet,” said the man from Aird and Co. “Give them a year or two, or perhaps a little longer, and they’ll be among the tenderers.”

  “There may be an Egyptian tenderer sooner than you think,” said the other civil servant.

  “Oh?” The man from Aird and Co. was interested.

  “If what I’ve heard is true.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “There’s a big deal in the offing. Egyptian interests only.”

  “I’ve not heard of a big deal,” said the man from Aird and Co. “Are you sure?”

  “It may be only talk.”

  “It would have to be a private development.”

  “I think it is.”

  “Public works is where the money is. Still, it would be interesting to know more.”

  “If I hear anything I’ll tell you.”

  After the meeting Paul and Owen walked out together. “Satisfied?” asked Owen.

  “Greedy buggers, aren’t they?” said Paul. “Yes, I’m satisfied. This will keep the French off our backs for a day or two. Want a drink? I’ll buy you one. It will have to be somewhere close because I’ve got something I’m going on to. Shepheard’s?”

  In the bar they met the French Charge. He waved to them in friendly fashion and pointed to his glass. “A drink?”

  “My turn,” said Owen. “Fortunately, Paul is buying this round.”

  “You ought to be buying me a drink,” Paul said to the Charge, “after what I’ve been doing for you this morning.”

  “I will buy you a drink,” said the Charge. “What have you been doing?”

  “Giving Dassin, Laporte et Lebrun a contract, I hope,” said Paul, waving the barman down.

  The Charge looked at him curiously. “Really?”

  “Yes,” said Paul. “What’ll you have? The same again?”

  “Yes, please. Funny,” said the Charge, “I thought…Well, I thought you were operating against us.”

  “Me?” said Paul. “I’m a Francophile at heart. And an Egyptophile. I’m every sort of phile except an Anglophile after a morning like this.”

  “You’ve obviously had a hard morning. But productive, I would say,” said the Charge, “and I certainly will buy you a drink when you’ve finished that one.”

  “How’s Madame Moulin?” inquired Owen.

  The Charge pulled a face and drank deep.

  “I’m waiting for her now. In fact, I’m waiting for her all the time. She’s supposed not to move a step without me. But that means I can’t move a step without her. It’s terrible! It’s killing me!”

  He looked at Owen.

  “I had hopes…” he said. “Look, you’re not hiding Moulin yourself, are you? Because if you are, I beg of you, I plead with you-” he clasped his hands in mock prayer-“let him go, just for my sake, so that she will go away again!”

  Paul pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to his eyes. “This is a pretty powerful plea,” he said to Owen. “ Are you holding him?”

  “I wish I was,” said Owen. “Then I could release him and we could all go home. I’ll tell you what,” he offered, “since it’s for your sake, I’ll try harder.”

  “Thank you,” said the Charge.

  “Anyway,” said Paul, “he’s more interested in holding Zeinab.”

  “Zeinab!” The Charges eyes lit up. He put his hand on Owen’s sleeve. “You can help me!”

  “What, again?”

  “I need a woman, an Egyptian woman.”

  “Well…”

  “No, no. It’s for Madame Moulin. She wants to meet some Egyptian women. How about dinner? You can come too. Tonight? Tomorrow? Please! She’s driving me crazy.”

  The Charge had a French cook. Consequently, an invitation to dinner was not something you lightly turned down. Moreover, it was very rare for Owen and Zeinab to be invited anywhere a deux. He was sorely tempted.

  “Please!”

  Owen made up his mind.

  “It would be very nice. Thank you. We would love to come.”

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you a thousand times!” The Charge drank his glass at a gulp and ordered another round immediately. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

  Eventually, Paul definitely had to have gone and he and Owen got up together. As they turned to go the maitre d’hotel ran into the room. He made straight for Owen.

  “Monsieur! Oh, Monsieur!”

  “What is it?”

  “Come quickly!”

  “What is it, man?”

  “Monsieur Cole-torp ’Artley. He has disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Like the other. Oh, Monsieur, a second one!”

  Chapter 8

  The kidnapping of Colthorpe Hartley was not the same in all respects as the kidnapping of Monsieur Moulin. Like Moulin, Colthorpe Hartley had been on the terrace when it happened, but as it was just before lunch time and still very hot the terrace had been half deserted. Some people liked to take their drinks out there, the heat notwithstanding, but most preferred to retreat indoors into the shuttered shade. Colthorpe Hartley, however, always liked to sit out there while awaiting the return of his wife and daughter from their shopping expeditions.

  “Always?”

  “Yes,” said Lucy Colthorpe Hartley. “We do something every morning and always try to get back just before lunch and Daddy is always waiting for us. He can’t come with us himself, you know, he’s not up to it. But he likes to sit and wait for us where he’ll see us the moment we arrive. I think he misses us, even when it’s just for the morning, especially since his stroke.”

  “It’s pretty hot out there.”

  “He doesn’t sit there for long. He knows when to expect us and goes out about ten minutes before. And,” said Lucy, trying to make a joke of it, “he’s never once been late!”

  “So when you didn’t see him there today-”

  “I knew something had happened to him. I thought perhaps-well, you know, there’s always the risk in his condition. I rushed straight indoors because I thought he might be in his room. Then I ran down and asked one of the suffragis to try the Gents. Then I spoke to Monsieur Vincent in case he had fallen somewhere. Monsieur Vincent immediately got everyone looking and I went back out on to the terrace and told Mummy. We asked people on the terrace but they hadn’t seen him. None of the waiters had either, though one of them thought he had definitely seen Daddy go out on to the terrace. W
e tried the arabeah-drivers, I mean, it’s not very likely, but there was just a chance, but none of them had seen him either. And then Monsieur Vincent came out looking very grave and said he thought we should ring the police. And only then did I think-well, it’s so unlikely, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t! Even when it’s somebody sitting right beside you, like Monsieur Moulin, it’s somehow remote, the sort of thing you read about in the papers but which never happens to you. It’s as if you’ve got a great big wall around you and then suddenly the wall falls down and all sorts of horrible things are happening.”

  There was this difference, too, from the Moulin case, that the alarm was raised almost immediately. Colthorpe Hartley could have gone out on the terrace no more than a quarter of an hour before Lucy and her mother arrived and it could have been no more than a quarter of an hour later that Monsieur Vincent had rung the police.

  And Owen had been on the spot all the time.

  “At least you weren’t out on the terrace,” said Garvin sourly.

  Gavin had come across straight away, arriving with McPhee. Owen had had time to get a message to them before they left telling McPhee to bring as many men as he could lay his hands on. As soon as they had arrived he had thrown a cordon around the hotel. It was probably locking the door after the horse had gone but there was a faint chance that Colthorpe Hartley might be hidden somewhere close and every chance had to be followed up.

  McPhee, as before, organized the searching. His face was pale and pink and distressed. These things ought not to happen in his ordered world.

  Garvin was tight-lipped and grim. Like Mahmoud, he had gone straight to the street-sellers. He had been a policeman in Egypt for years and knew not only the language but also how to talk to people.

  Mahmoud himself arrived shortly after. When he was really concentrating he allowed himself little of the Arab expansiveness of gesture and talk which were characteristic of him normally. He was concentrating now. He listened to the manager’s account of what had happened, nodded and went out to the terrace where he stood for some moments thinking. He saw that Garvin was questioning the vendors nearest the terrace and ignored them. After a moment he crossed the street and began to talk to people on the other side.