His mind raced. The boy was already thrusting a piece of soap into the detective's palm, escorting Simpers to a wash hand basin and turning a tap on for him. The boy watched Simpers intently as he went about his ablutions, turning the tap off for him as the detective shook his hands free of excess water. Now came the paper tissue, which he felt obliged to take, before discarding it in a rickety metal bin.
The young boy stared at Simpers with expectant eyes. The detective also noticed some of the other men looking at him. He didn't know whether it was because he was a stranger, or how the detective would now treat the youngster.
Simpers felt the panic that, he supposed, most other inexperienced travellers went through, in not wanting to misjudge the local culture. He had no coins to give the boy and knew he couldn't just walk out. The alternative, he thought, was to offer the youngster folding money, but would that draw the ire of the men? Would they think Simpers was flaunting wealth in the face of the young lad's poverty? The detective knew he was in danger of over-thinking the problem. The few seconds he had already spent deliberating the conundrum felt like a week. Eyes continued to burn into him.
He decided to bite the bullet and took out his wallet. Simpers looked for the lowest denomination of note. Handing it to the young boy, who looked suitably spellbound, the detective exited the tiny space without risking a look at his adult companions. As he left the building he heard faint laughter. Looking the fool, he thought, was a price worth paying.
He spent the next few minutes gazing at nothing in particular amid the chaotic scene around him. Emptying his head of anything approaching police work, he sucked on a pineapple chunk, and started to relax.
'Mr Simpers, what a small world it is,' said Amelia.
The detective almost choked on his boiled sweet as the familiar tone of his table companion dragged him back to the present.
'What are you two doing here?' replied Simpers.
'I told you back at the docks. Jonathan and I are off to the pyramids. We checked in at the hotel and came into the city to buy our tickets and hire a taxi for the afternoon. Look, the ticket office is just by that square brick building thingy,' said Amelia.
Simpers didn't want to be reminded of the square brick building thingy.
'Why don't you come with us? You'll enjoy it, I'm sure. Think of all that history! By the way, where's the Purser?'
The detective thought for a moment, before concluding company in a strange place mightn't be a bad thing.
'The Purser. Oh, he's met a couple of blokes who are looking after him,' replied Simpers, pleased that he'd managed to head off further questions on the subject.
Tickets bought and taxi hired, the three intrepid historians set off for Giza.
'How far are the pyramids from here?' asked Amelia, as the enthusiastic taxi driver sped off across the 15th May Bridge, then zigzagged across two lanes of the ring-road.
'Not long,' said the young man, brightly. 'If the traffic is not too bad, it will take us about half an hour, that's all.'
'You speak good English,' offered Jonathan.
'I have an uncle and cousin that live in Manchester. I go there sometimes,' replied the taxi driver.
'Manchester, eh. Do you follow United or City?' asked Jonathan.
'No, Liverpool, for me,' said the driver, before chanting Shankly, Shankly, then launching into a spirited rendition of You'll Never Walk Alone.
Not wishing to dampen the young man's enthusiasm, Amelia and Jonathan entered into the spirit of things by humming along. Simpers sucked on the last remnants of his boiled sweet.
***
'How old did you say that big one is?' asked Jonathan as the three companions surveyed the sand blown complex of pyramids.
'The guidebook says it's about four and a half thousand years old,' replied Amelia. 'Apparently, it's called the Pyramid of Khufu, or Pyramid of Cheops – and before you ask, it's about 500 feet tall.'
'Flaming 'eck,' replied Jonathan, 'I wouldn't like to have been a bricklayer back then, would you?'
Amelia and Simpers looked at Jonathan, both pondering how their young friend's brain worked.
Having successfully evaded half a dozen hawkers trying to sell them trinkets at every turn, and camel drivers imploring the three tourists to mount their beasts, they joined a queue of people waiting to access the Great Pyramid.
'I'm glad I'm not doing this in the middle of August, the heat would be unbearable,' said Amelia.
'I wish I wasn't doing this at all,' muttered Simpers.
'Don't be such a spoilsport,' replied Amelia in mock chastisement, 'it'll be fantastic in there.'
'Look at that fat bloke coming out of the pyramid. His face is purple, and it looks as though he's gasping for air. He could do with losing some weight, that's what I think,' offered Jonathan.
His two friends looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough there was an overweight gentleman fitting Jonathan's less than tactful description.
Ten minutes later and the three friends were at the small oblong entrance to the pyramid. Simpers immediately realised why the overweight man looked so ill when he emerged from the stone monolith. As a local guide helped him through the tiny entrance, he could see that the stepped floor disappeared at an alarmingly steep angle. To his left, a wooden handrail offered the only means of support on his descent.
The detective could hear Amelia and Jonathan grunting behind him as they, too, hung on for dear life during their descent. After what seemed like an age, the floor levelled out. In the dim light, they could just make out they were in a space measuring about fifteen feet long, by eight feet wide, and twelve feet high. At one end stood a stone sarcophagus, badly damaged on one corner and without its lid.
'I don't know about you, two, but I've had enough of history. There's hardly any air down here and I can't breathe,' said Simpers.
'Sounds like you've got a touch of claustrophobia to me, Mr Simpers,' replied Amelia.
'Well, I don't suppose this place was designed for visitors, was it,' added Jonathan.
For once, his two friends agreed with the young man's assessment.
As Simpers exited the Great Pyramid, he took in as much oxygen that the still air of the late afternoon would allow. Seconds later, Amelia and Jonathan joined him.
'You look like that fat bloke, Mr Simpers,' said Jonathan, 'your face isn't half red.'
The detective shot Jonathan a withering look.
'We could fallout, me and you,' said Simpers.
'Now, boys. Behave yourselves. Jonathan is only having a bit of fun,' said Amelia.
The young man turned and smiled at the woman.
'Your face is like beetroot as well, Amelia,' said Jonathan.
'Don't be so rude. Go find our taxi driver,' said Amelia, without a hint of a smile. 'Cheeky young sod. I wonder what he'll be like when he's our age.'
The two exchanged supportive looks as they continued their efforts to breath.
***
'Look at this, the Steak Diane is ninety… ninety quid!' said Jonathan, unable to believe what he was reading.
As the three friends scanned the evening meal menu in the hotel dining room, the young man's eyes bulged from their sockets as he mentally calculated the likely cost of the meal.
'Don't be daft, Jonathan. It's ninety Egyptian pounds, not sterling, you dozy crow. So your Steak Diane will actually cost you about eight quid. Not bad, eh?'
Jonathan gave Amelia a quizzical look, not sure whether to believe her or not.
'Amelia's right,' said Simpers, 'the conversion rate is about eleven to one at the moment. That means you can eat tonight, without the need to go busking.'
'But I've never been busking,' replied a quizzical looking Jonathan.
Observing the look his two friends were giving him, it eventually dawned that they were winding him up.
'You bas–'
'Never mind that. Watch your language, young man,' interrupted Amelia.
As the three of them erupted in
to a chorus of laughter, Simpers noticed a group of policeman entering the dining room alongside a familiar looking figure. As their laughter continued, the detective realised they were headed for his table.
'You must come with us, sir,' said one of three policeman as they took up position around Simpers in an arc. To one side and a few feet away from the table, stood the young taxi driver who Simpers and his companions had spent the afternoon with.
'Can I help you?' said Simpers. 'Is there something wrong?'
'As I have said, sir, you must come with us to the police station,' repeated the policeman.
'Are you arresting me? If so on what charge?' asked Simpers, trying hard to maintain his composure.
'You paid this man with torn money. He says you were trying to trick him. This is a very serious thing and you must come with us,' said the policeman.
Simpers racked his brain as he replayed the afternoon's events. The only money he'd given the young man was what he thought a generous tip.
'Wait, wait. This is all a misunderstanding. I apologise if I have offended this young man. If you wait here for a few minutes I can put this right. I need to go to my room; I will be back in a few minutes,' said Simpers.
'You are not going anywhere, sir.'
Simpers felt into his jacket pocket and pulled out the key to his room. He leant into Jonathan.
'For heaven's sake, Jonathan. Get into my room, quickly. You'll find my warrant card in the bedside cabinet. There's also a small box in there. Bring that back as well. Please, go quickly.'
Jonathan ran from the dining room, much to the bemusement of the three policeman. As all this was going on the young taxi driver stood rooted to the spot, looking at the floor. He made no attempt to engage Simpers.
'You must come now. There is no time to wait for your friend,' said the policeman as he gestured for Simpers to stand up. As he did so, Jonathan re-entered the room and scurried over to the table. He handed the detective a small leather wallet, together with the box. Simpers put the two items down on the table and retrieved his wallet from an inside pocket. Inspecting its contents, he withdrew a number of notes and checked them carefully for damage.
'Here, I'm happy to replace the money I gave the young man this afternoon. I say again, I'm sorry, I meant no offence,' said Simpers as he held the money out to the taxi driver. The young man failed to lift his eyes from the floor.
'Officer,' said Simpers quietly, as he showed his warrant card to the policeman who spoke English. 'You can see that I am a fellow policeman. Do you understand?'
The tension seemed to ease as the Egyptian officers consulted each other.
'I am certain this is a misunderstanding,' added Simpers. 'And please, let me show my appreciation by giving the young man a gift as well as the money.
For the first time that evening, the young man raised his eyes from the floor. He looked in Simpers' direction. The three officers concluded their discussions, turning back towards Simpers as he removed the lid from the box and took out its ceramic contents. Holding it up to the young man, he offered the gift.
In an instant, the young man's demeanour changed. He began to shout and wave his hands aggressively. The police looked astonished at Simpers' offering.
'Enough,' said the policeman, 'this is an insult. You must not do this thing. You are a bad man and you will come with us, now.'
Two of the police officers took hold of Simpers, the third scooped up his wallet, warrant card and the offending gift, which now lay broken on the dining table. As he was escorted loudly from the dining room, Simpers looked back to see a horrified look on the faces of his table companions.
'Why were they so angry when Mr Simpers offered the taxi driver that gift?' said a confused Jonathan.
'I'm betting the taxi driver thought Simpers was insulting him by showing him the sole of that shoe,' said Amelia.
'But it wasn't even a real shoe, it was a ceramic one Mr Simpers told us he'd been given as a gift in Madeira,' replied Jonathan.
'It doesn't matter, Jonathan. Around these parts, showing somebody the sole of a shoe, real or not, let alone if they think you're going to hit them with it, is a really big insult. It's no use looking at me like that. Mr Simpers should have known better.'
'And they've chucked him in jail for that?'
'Got it in one, Jonathan. We need to get in touch with the consulate… as soon as we've finished dinner.'
Fancy Seeing You Here
'Come with me.'
The prison officer's order didn't leave any room for negotiation. Simpers rose from the stone slab covered with a thin, stained covered mattress that had served as his bed for the night. Opening the iron-barred door, the small rotund man who looked as though he needed a shave, didn't wait for Simpers as he slouched down the grubby corridor.
'You come, now,' said the ill tempered official.
In the few seconds it took Simpers to exit his cell, and then pass the curious gazes of Egyptian prisoners peering back at him from their confinement, he glimpsed the last of his guard's crumpled trousers disappearing around a corner.
'Perhaps you'd like to tell me where I'm being taken?' asked Simpers in a voice loud enough to carry the twenty feet or so between prisoner and captor. The man chose not to reply. As the detective made up the distance between them, his jailer twisted the loose knob of a door he was standing next to, flinging it open. He gestured for Simpers to enter the room.
'Comfortable night, Simpers?'
The detective failed to hide his astonishment at the sight before him.
'Chief Inspector Pimlico, er… Boss,' was all that Simpers could manage.
He couldn't take his eyes of his superior. His mind raced as he tried to work out what was happening. Then it dawned.
'So this is what last night was all about. I knew I hadn't given that taxi driver any duff money,' Simpers added.
Chief Inspector Pimlico grinned and sat back into a vintage wooden swivel chair he was occupying. He tapped the used contents of his pipe into a neatly folded handkerchief, which sat on the table in front of him.
'For reasons that we shall go into shortly, it's important that no one suspects why you are here,' said the Chief Inspector, before continuing, 'I have to say, Simpers, you helped enormously with that shoe routine. Priceless!'
Simpers felt stupid as he scanned the four faces that focussed on his embarrassment, barely disguised tears of laughter glinting on more than one cheek.
'Oh, don't take it so seriously, Simpers. Think of it as adding a touch of authenticity. Still, it's a pity your little gift from Madeira is now in bits. Then again, it'll be one less thing for you to dust back at home,' said the Chief Inspector, concentrating hard on refilling his pipe in order to stifle his laughter.
His failed efforts made the others, with the exception of Simpers, giggle all the more. The detective had no other choice than to stand and take it. He waited for a measure of sanity to return to the room.
'And the taxi driver, was he…' said Simpers, once quiet had been restored.
'No,' interrupted the Chief Inspector. 'He isn't on the local force. But the lad did earn a few shillings for the little acting job in the dining room – seemed he had you fooled, eh.'
Simpers decided the best course of action was not to prolong the line of conversation further. Instead, he turned to look at each of the strangers in turn.
'Now, let me introduce you to my colleagues,' said the Chief Inspector.
All traces of mirth had now disappeared from the room. As if by some invisible command, Simpers and the strangers joined Pimlico at the bare wooden table that dominated the sparse room.
'From left to right we have, first of all, my Egyptian counter-part, Brigadier Baako Adofo; then our Russian colleague, Colonel Andrei Agapov; and finally, Major General Sir James Padfield-Tamblyn.
Simpers scrutinised each of the officers as they were introduced. He was puzzled at the seniority and mix of individuals gathered around the Chief Inspector.
&n
bsp; 'Now, Detective Inspector,' said Pimlico, 'perhaps you would be kind enough to bring us up-to-date with your investigations aboard the Sir Francis Drake.'
Simpers spent the next twenty minutes detailing the events of the previous ten days. He explained that for much of the voyage, he'd thought the Purser’s staff racket had, in some way, been mixed up with the gems theft, before realising they were completely unrelated matters. The detective completed his briefing by outlining the security measures he had put in place to ensure the gems didn't leave the ship.
'So, to summarise, Detective Inspector. You have almost been tipped off the side of the ship. You've heard strange voices when moving about the deck. You almost ate a poison dart, and to top it all, someone beat you about the head and locked you in a refrigerator. Yet, from what I can gather, you're no nearer apprehending the culprit. Does that about cover it?' said Pimlico.
Simpers had expected a rough ride from his superior. He also knew that the presence of other senior officers made no difference to the dressing down the Chief Inspector was dishing out to him.
'With respect, that's not quite the case, Chief Inspector,' Simpers replied, before continuing, 'The reason that I put such tight security in place for anything going on or off the ship, is that I expect the gems to be offloaded in Port Said. I believe that they will then be couriered further east and re-cut.'
'And your evidence for this hypothesis?' replied Pimlico.
Simpers tried to read the body language of those around the table. He failed. Senior officers, he concluded, had long mastered the art of the inscrutable.
'I had the files that covered a similar gems theft on a cruise ship eight years ago checked over. The modus operandi was almost identical to this theft. Also, the investigating officers came to the conclusion that the diamonds had been fenced and re-cut in the near-east,' explained Simpers.
The detective looked for signs of agreement on the Chief Inspector's face. He didn't find it.
'That would be Detective Inspectors Fitch and Gammon, would it?' replied the Chief Inspector.
Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates Page 20
