The Snake Catcher's Daughter

by Michael Pearce

  “What if it was?” said the Aalima.

  “If it was,” said Owen, “it was another thing to add to the many things that are piling up against your name. The heap will very soon topple over.”

  “To cast the evil eye is nothing,” said the Aalima scornfully.

  “To work against police officers is something,” said Owen. “And to work with Hassan is something more.”

  “Those are just words,” she muttered.

  “They are more. You cannot go home tonight. You come with me to the Bab-el-Khalk.”

  “I have done nothing!” she protested.

  “You have worked with others who have done something. That is enough.”

  For the first time she was shaken.

  “If I have,” she said, “it is very little.”

  “That is perhaps so,” said Owen, “and if it is, I will make a difference between you and the others. But only if you help me.”

  “I have already told you everything—”

  She stopped and looked at Owen.

  “Tell me about Hassan.”

  She shivered slightly and drew her shawl about her, even though beads of perspiration were running down her face.

  “I had not seen him for some time,” she said, “and then he came again.”

  “When was this?”

  “Before the Bimbashi came. He came to tell me the Bimbashi was coming. And what to do.”

  “To put a drug in the drink?”

  The Aalima inclined her head.

  “And to arrange for him to be taken?”

  “No, no,” said the Aalima, “that was nothing to do with me. All I had to do was make sure the Bimbashi was drugged. Hassan would do the rest.”

  “I shall ask him.”

  She shrugged.

  “He may say other,” she said, “but I have told the truth.”

  “All right,” said Owen, “we will speak more tomorrow. Now we go to the Bab-el-Khalk.”

  The Aalima followed him submissively. As they reached the steps, he turned to her.

  “Perhaps I will speak with Hassan now,” he said. “Where is he?”

  “Effendi, I do not know. I never knew his house. He would always send when he wanted me.”

  “But more recently he has come?”

  “Yes, effendi, but I still do not know where he lives. He stays, I think, with his sister. It is in the Gamaliya somewhere.”

  “What is the name of the sister?”

  “I do not know. She is married. Her husband is, I think, a snake catcher.”

  “That will do,” said Owen.

  “It’s Al-Lewa again, darling,” said Zeinab, folding up the newspaper. “They’re still after you, I’m afraid.”

  “What is it now?”

  “However, it’s plainly false this time.”

  “This time?”

  “Well, the other time it was about women, and you know what you are—”

  “Irreproachable,” said Owen, offended.

  On any other occasion, Zeinab would have taken the matter up and developed, not to say embroidered, the theme. This morning, though, she was worried.

  “It’s about those stones,” she said. “Both the diamond and the necklace. They know all about them and are asking what’s happened to them. Darling—?”

  “They’re in a safe place,” Owen assured her.

  “Not—not your pocket, by any chance?”

  Owen pulled them out.

  Zeinab came across.

  “Look, darling, I don’t normally question what you do, but I really do think this time—! They are bound to ask what you are doing with them in your pockets.”

  “I’m taking them round,” said Owen, “to all the jewellers. And asking them who bought them.”

  ***

  In Mahmoud’s little office, with the three of them in there, the temperature was over 100. Sweat ran down Philipides’s face in trickles; but that may, of course, have not been just due to the heat. He put his handkerchief to his forehead.

  “It was done without my knowledge,” he said.

  Mahmoud bent forward over his desk. He was less like a mongoose now than a bird of prey: one of the smaller hawks perhaps.

  “Let us get this straight; when Hassan approached Police Officer Abdul Bakri and solicited money, it was with your knowledge; when he approached Orderly Sayeed Abdullah and solicited money, it was without your knowledge?”

  “That is correct,” said Philipides, in a voice that was almost inaudible.

  “Others were approached too. Can you tell me which of them were approached with your knowledge?”

  “I cannot remember.”

  “You remembered Abdul Bakri.”

  “He was the one—”

  “That Garvin found out about?” Mahmoud finished.

  Philipides bowed his head.

  “Which were the ones he did not find out about? Can you give me their names?”

  “It is too long ago,” said Philipides wretchedly.

  “Wasn’t there a record?”

  “Mustapha Mir—”

  His voice died away. Mahmoud sat watching him.

  “Mustapha Mir,” he said softly after a while. “Tell me about him.”

  Philipides made a weary gesture.

  “What is there to tell? You know—”

  “Have you spoken to him lately?”

  “Spoken? How could I? He is in Damascus.”

  “I thought you might have spoken when he gave you your instructions.”

  “Instructions? What instructions?”

  “You tell me.”

  There was a little silence.

  “I know nothing of any instructions,” said Philipides shakily.

  Mahmoud gave him a moment or two. Then, without a sign being given, Owen knew it was his turn. The two had interrogated together before.

  “Philipides,” said Owen softly, “did you know that your wife had come to see me?”

  “‘Wife’?” said Philipides, eyes starting from his head. “Wife?”

  “Three times: once in an appartement, once in an arabeah, and once in my own house. She said it was without your knowledge. Is that true?”

  “Wife? I haven’t got a wife!”

  “When she came to my house, she left a diamond behind. Deliberately. I wondered if that too, was without your knowledge?”

  “I haven’t got a wife,” said Philipides, moistening his lips.

  “It is important, you see. Planting evidence, as, of course, you know, having been a police officer, is a crime. I was wondering if you wished to be charged with her.”

  “I haven’t got a wife,” said Philipides. “I haven’t got a wife! This is a trick!” he burst out. “A plot! I haven’t got a wife!”

  “It will be easy to check,” said Mahmoud.

  “Check, then!” said Philipides, turning on Mahmoud. “Check!”

  “She told me she was your wife,” said Owen.

  “It is a lie! I haven’t got a wife,” said Philipides, weeping. Mahmoud looked at Owen. Owen knew that he was wondering if he had got it right. He was wondering himself.

  “She said she was your wife.”

  And then something came into his head, something that Selim had said as they walked away from the girl’s appartement. Not Philipides’s woman, but—

  “Is it true that you are not married?” he said to Philipides.

  “It is true! I swear! Check—”

  “Perhaps it is true,” Owen said thoughtfully. “But then, why—?”

  He thought hard. Then—

  “Philipides,” he said, almost gently, “I really think that you should talk to Mr el Zaki. In your own interests. I think you may be right, that there is a plot against you. Only it is
not I that am framing the plot, it is another, whom you know very well. Think for a moment: a woman comes to me and leaves a diamond. The diamond is later referred to in the press as evidence that I am guilty of accepting bribes. It is a plot against me. But at the same time, Philipides, it is a plot against you. For the woman claimed to be your wife. I can think of only one reason for that: she wished to incriminate you. Why was that, do you think?”

  “I do not know. I have done nothing—”

  “I will tell you. Because the man behind this wished to cover his tracks. At your expense. You know the man, I think. Perhaps you should tell Mr el Zaki about him.”

  ***

  Paul brought the telegram to the club that evening and showed it to Owen. It was from Wainwright.

  Suggest change venue Flower Show not time. Move closer to river. Heavy watering should do trick.

  “Does that mean he’s still coming?” said Paul crossly.

  ***

  “Oh, my head!” gasped Selim. “Oh, my head!”

  “Just bloody get a move on!” snapped Owen.

  “I come, effendi, I come! Oh, effendi,” said Selim, falling in beside Owen and clutching his head, “do you think the Aalima put something in the drink again?”

  “No, you just drank too much of it.”

  Georgiades came up.

  “I checked the names the teacher gave you,” he said. “This was the only one who lived in the Gamaliya.”

  “I want you to get them both,” said Owen. “Both Hassan and the brother-in-law. Be careful with the brother-in-law. He may have a bag of snakes with him.”

  “Snakes!” said Georgiades. “What the hell do I do with them?”

  “We ought to have brought a catcher, I suppose. Selim! The second man may have a bag with him. You take charge of that.”

  “Abdul!” he heard Selim saying a little later. “I’ll take the man, you take the bag.”

  “But, Selim—” pleaded Abdul’s worried voice.

  The house was part of a derelict block which backed on to waste ground.

  “We’ll have to cover the rear,” said Owen.

  “You do that,” said Georgiades. “I’ll go in through the front.”

  As they approached, a man detached himself from the shadow and came up to them.

  “They’re still there,” he said.

  “Good,” said Georgiades. “OK, we’re putting somebody at the back, too. Take Owen effendi round and show him which house. I’ll give you ten minutes,” he said to Owen.

  There was a door at the back of the house and an outside staircase leading up on to the roof.

  “Check if there’s anyone up there,” whispered Owen. The man slipped silently away and returned in a moment shaking his head.

  Owen put Selim one side of the door and Abdul the other. Then he withdrew a little way with the third man so that they could deploy themselves as reserve.

  It was the middle of the afternoon and there was no one about. Everyone was inside sleeping. The heat was intense. It felt as if a clothes iron was pressing between his shoulders. Sweat, merely from the walk, though in Selim’s case probably also from the beer, was running down their faces.

  Selim, listening at the door, suddenly held his hand up. Abdul twitched and raised his truncheon.

  Then the door burst open and a man came running out.

  Or would have come running out if Selim’s great arms had not suddenly enfolded him.

  “Not so fast, my lovely!” said Selim, and nodded his head to Abdul. Abdul struck once. Selim lowered his burden to the ground and sat on him.

  As Owen came up, he caught the whiff of snake oil.

  “Ah!” he said.

  He stepped past and went on into the house. Somewhere a woman was screaming. He saw Georgiades in a doorway.

  Georgiades nodded and stepped back. Owen followed him into the room. The only light came from one small window which had been part-blocked against the sun. There was a man lying on the floor. A constable knelt beside him forcing his arms up his back. As Owen came in, he turned his face towards him.

  “Hassan?” said Owen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The house was a fine old Mameluke house. To the street it presented a high wall, with a large wooden door, strong enough for a castle, in a richly decorated archway. There were no windows on the ground floor but above the archway a row of corbels allowed the first floor to project a couple of feet and above that were three rows of oriel windows closely screened with rich meshrebiya woodwork. The door opened into a courtyard along one side of which was the mandar’ah, or reception room, and it was there that Demerdash Pasha received him.

  The mandar’ah had the usual sunken floor of black and white marble and in its centre one of the little fountains called faskiya played into a shallow pool lined with coloured marble. At one end of the room was a large dais with cushions, where the master of the house would welcome and entertain his guests if he felt so minded. Demerdash did not feel so minded and received Owen standing by the faskiyar.

  “I did not appreciate when we met, Pasha,” said Owen, after the formal greetings were over, “that you were such a benefactor of the press.”

  “Benefactor?”

  “I gather that you are paying their fines. Or rather, Al-Lewa’s fines. Or so I understand.”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “Oh, absolutely none. Except that I am the man who is imposing the fines. And I thought I would tell you the size of the sum you will be obliged to meet.”

  He named the sum.

  “But that is colossal!” cried Demerdash.

  “Substantial, certainly. But then, so is the scale of the libel.”

  “Outrageous!”

  “You can test it in the Courts if you wish.”

  “I certainly shall.”

  “I am not sure that I would if I were you. You see, it would certainly emerge that the libels, in my case at least, were based on planted evidence.”

  “You would have to prove that.”

  “Oh, I could. I could even show where the stones had been purchased. And who had purchased them. And all that would come out at the subsequent trial.”

  “Subsequent trial?”

  “Well, naturally. These are serious charges that you would be faced with.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I thought you might prefer to restore your fortunes somewhere else. Damascus, let us say. You know Damascus, I think? It was there, wasn’t it, that you met Mustapha Mir and enlisted his aid?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “One of his friends, you see, has been telling me about the conversations you had with him. How you wished to do something that could restore the Khedive to his former powers. How he might be freed from the yoke of the British; and ‘the old virtues’—I quote—be restored.”

  “Fantasy!”

  “It was Mustapha Mir, I expect, who suggested how this might be done. Adroit as ever, he put forward a plan that coincided with his own interest. The three Englishmen who were primarily responsible for law and order would be discredited and obliged to leave. Men sympathetic to you, and the Khedive, would be put in their place. They might even include—or so, I think, Mustapha Mir hoped—a man who had held one of the posts before.”

  “I know nothing of any such plan.”

  “Not all the details, perhaps. They were left to Mustapha Mir. Mustapha Mir and some of his former employees. But you knew enough, in the article you planted in Al-Lewa, to refer to all three parts of the scheme: the drugging and exposure of McPhee, the accusations against Garvin and the charges against me.”

  “What I have done,” said Demerdash, “I have done for the sake of the Khedive.”

  “No doubt. And now you are going to do him an even grea
ter service. You are going to depart these shores forever. The arabeah is waiting at the door.”

  ***

  “There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell,” he explained to Paul, “of the Khedive agreeing to anything serious happening to him. Besides, if we brought him to trial it would be an embarrassment to the Administration. All that stuff about McPhee—”

  “All that stuff about you,” said Paul.

  “Quite. And, of course, we didn’t want him around making an even bigger nuisance of himself. So, all in all, it seemed best just to kick him out.”

  Philipides, after a good scare, was left to moulder in peace. Hassan? Well, Mahmoud had got his teeth into him and didn’t let go until he was well and truly sent down. He also made, in the interests of future efficiency, some Official Recommendations about recruitment and promotion in the Police Force. Rather to everyone’s surprise, Garvin accepted them without hesitation. Indeed, it was rumoured that he and Mahmoud had had a joint hand in writing them.

  The inquiry into Garvin’s behaviour at the time of the Philipides business was quietly dropped.

  “After all,” Paul pointed out, “they’d done what they wanted: caused us political embarrassment.”

  Wainwright did come out—he had left home, unfortunately, the very morning before the telegram arrived cancelling the request for him to give evidence—and was able to present prizes at the Flower Show. It was lucky that the hot spell had come to an end the week before in violent thunderstorms and heavy rain, thus obviating any need to change the Show’s venue.

  Owen, purely in the interests of cleaning everything up, or so he claimed, tried to lay his hands on—no, the wrong expression; better, apprehend—Mustapha Mir’s woman but she had unfortunately just slipped out of the country. Owen did not mention all this to Zeinab.

  Selim was seconded to the Mamur Zapt’s staff, for special duties, which he found much more congenial than directing the traffic outside the Bab-el-Khalk. It carried with it an increase in rank to corporal, which put ideas into his head. His wife, Aisha, came to see Owen about some of them. Owen remonstrated with Selim.