‘At any rate, to ride to a different tune.’
‘That is so. That is exactly so.’
‘It is hard, though, especially out here,’ he said, thinking of Zeinab, ‘to be a woman and to be independent.’
‘Less hard than you think, if you’re a foreigner. There are no people from home to order me around and the locals don’t know what to make of me.’
‘But on your travels –’
She shrugged.
‘I carry a gun. In fact, though, the Bedu have never bothered me. It’s only in the towns that there has ever been any trouble. And then it’s usually been only from interfering officials. In the desert, at least you can get away from all that. There’s space, there’s freedom. You can choose your own route.’
‘As you evidently did in the Sinai.’
She gave him a sharp look.
‘You do do your homework,’ she said. ‘You have been making inquiries?’
‘No. I just heard.’
‘Well, it is not important. Is it important to you?’
‘Not to me. To the authorities, perhaps.’
‘The authorities!’ she said contemptuously.
They went out on to the verandah and stood looking down at the river. While they had been dining, the moon had risen. The leaves of the palm trees along the bank had turned silver and immediately below them the water was full of silver sparkles, too, where some men had waded out into the river to fill their water-bags. As they watched, the wind stirred the palm leaves and a long silver ripple ran out from the shore right across the river.
‘Let us go for a walk along the bank,’ she said. And, later:
‘It is a pity you are not coming with me,’ she said.
‘Effendi,’ said the warehouse foreman, almost weeping, ‘on my oath, I did not know. Am I a genie, to see what lies hidden inside the bales?’
‘Did not they seem heavy? Heavier than usual?’
‘If they did, Effendi, the camels did not tell me.’
‘The porters, then; did not they remark on it?’
The foreman looked at the warehouse porters, great, bull-necked men, who would think nothing of carrying a piano single-handed.
‘They remark on much, Effendi. Too much. But they did not remark on this.’
Owen thought it likely that they wouldn’t even have noticed.
‘Where did the bales come from?’
‘Sennar, Effendi.’
‘Sennar? That is a long way.’
‘It is. But, Effendi, on their way they pass through Assuan, and there they are sorted into different lots. Most go on to the cotton markets, but some are rejected, and it is those which come to us.’
‘So the guns could have been put in either at Sennar or at Assuan?’
‘They could, Effendi. They would not have been put in during the march, for the camel men would not have it. But –’
‘Yes?’
‘Effendi, why were they put in? And why,’ he said, distressed, ‘were they sent to us?’
‘That is what has to be looked into.’
Owen asked for the names of the firm’s agents at Assuan. The foreman gave them to him.
‘But, Effendi, they may know nothing about it. Do you know the great traders’ market at Assuan? It is by the river. The caravans come in and camp and unload their goods. The bales would have stood as unloaded, waiting for another caravan, one of ours, to pick them up and carry them on. There are many people in the camp, Effendi, hundreds, if not thousands, and they walk around freely. Anyone might have come to the bales in the night.’
Owen nodded.
‘The bales were brought here, then, from Assuan. How long would they have stayed in your warehouse before they were opened?’
‘They would not have been opened. We would have auctioned them as they stood.’
‘But surely buyers wish to examine the goods before bidding?’
‘The goods are taken up to our place near the Market of the Afternoon on the day before the auction. Then anyone can come in and see them.’
‘Would they open the bales?’
‘Not usually. They come and feel the cotton, Effendi, that is all they need.’
‘So that if someone knew that the goods were arriving, they would break in either to your warehouse or to your place near the Market of the Afternoon and take the guns?’
‘They could, Effendi. But our warehouse is safe. We have an interest in making it so. And at our place near the Market of the Afternoon we have a watchman.’
Owen had his own theories about the efficacy of watchmen; especially near the Market of the Afternoon.
‘But, have you thought, Effendi,’ said the foreman, ‘there is no need to break into either; provided you are prepared to pay the highest price at the auction.’
‘I really don’t think –’ began Owen.
‘I think you should,’ said Paul.
‘Appointment of a librarian? Look, I’ve got important things to do –’
‘Not as important as this,’ said Paul.
Paul, now, as Kitchener’s right-hand man, was in a position to insist, so, grumbling, Owen went.
When he entered the room he was staggered by the status of the people present. There was Paul, of course, and his opposite numbers from the principal Consulates. There was the Turkish representative, Ismet Bey. And there was one of the Khedive’s senior cabinet ministers. That was, possibly, explicable since the appointment was to the Khedive’s Library. Even so, they were only appointing a librarian, which was hardly the stuff of international disputes.
Except that it appeared to be.
‘But I am a scholar!’ said the German representative, beaming.
‘A very distinguished one,’ said Ismet Bey.
‘One who, moreover, enjoys the full confidence of the Khedive,’ declared the cabinet minister.
‘No, you’re not; you’re Number Two at the German Consulate,’ said Paul.
‘In Germany, that does not preclude scholarship,’ said the German representative easily.
Stung, Paul retorted:
‘No, but it ought to preclude taking up a sensitive senior post in His Highness’s service!’
‘Sensitive?’ murmured Ismet Bey.
‘Senior?’ said a representative of one of the other Consulates doubtfully.
‘A key post,’ declared Paul, ‘and one that has hitherto been occupied only by distinguished scholars of independent standing.’
‘A tradition I hope to maintain,’ murmured the German representative.
‘But you are not independent. You are –’
‘German?’ suggested Ismet Bey. ‘The