The Mamur Zapt and the Camel of Destruction. Michael Pearce

anything.’

      ‘There, I think, you’re failing to anticipate the agenda, Mr Filmi,’ said Paul. ‘Shall we begin?’

      The subject of the meeting was the current difficulties of the Agricultural Bank. The Bank had been set up a few years before to address the problems of Egypt’s cotton-producing fellahin, or peasants. Chief among these was their chronic indebtedness.

      They borrowed to buy the land in the first place; they borrowed to buy seed and fertilizer; and they borrowed in order to live when their returns fell short of their costs. The trouble was that they borrowed from local moneylenders at rates of interest so high as to make it virtually impossible for them ever to repay.

      The Agricultural Bank was intended to cut through all this. It lent only to Egyptians (the foreign bankers were not too happy about this), it lent only to fellahin and not to rich landowners (the Minister was not too happy about this) and it lent at low rates of interest (none of the bankers were happy about this). However, it worked.

      For a time. But then international cotton prices fell, the boom came to an end, interest rates rose and everyone was in trouble. The Bank was in trouble.

      ‘Over-lent,’ said one of the foreign bankers.

      ‘Under-secured,’ said another.

      And so, only more so, were the fellahin. A few weeks before, the Bank had started foreclosing on its loans.

      ‘Outrageous!’ fumed Filmi.

      ‘Devastating!’ murmured the politicians.

      But fortunately the fellahin did not have votes.

      ‘A financial disaster!’ said the British, who were there, after all, to help the Egyptians avoid financial disasters.

      The Bank, in their view, was underfunded. This was not the view of the foreign bankers, however. Nor was it the view of Abdul Aziz Filmi. The money was there, all right. Or should have been there.

      ‘Where has it gone?’

      ‘Costs of the recession,’ said the Governor of the Bank of Egypt.

      ‘Administrative expenses,’ said the Adviser.

      ‘Inefficiency and waste,’ said the overseas bankers.

      ‘Corruption,’ said Abdul Aziz Filmi.

       CHAPTER 3

      ‘And what exactly was the nature of Mr Fingari’s work?’ asked Owen.

      The Under-Secretary, behind his desk, began to shuffle papers.

      ‘His work? Oh yes. Well, very important. This is an important Department, Captain Owen. New, but important. Our budget does not really reflect … Of course, you can’t do much with £20,000 (Egyptian). Not if you have to cover the whole country. And not with something like Agriculture. But it’s an important Department.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘We do our best. Of course, with the Khedivial Agricultural Society–’

      ‘The Khedivial Agricultural Society?’

      ‘Yes. A very vigorous body. Set up by the Khedive himself a few years ago. With the help of some of your own distinguished compatriots.’

      ‘The Society comes under your Department, does it?’

      ‘Oh no, no. Quite independent. Private, you might say. And vigorous, very vigorous.’

      ‘It promotes discussion, I take it?’

      ‘Oh yes. Very ardent discussion, yes. And also–’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘It sells.’

      ‘It engages in business on its own account?’

      ‘Yes. It sells seed. It has an arrangement with the Agricultural Bank.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘Yes. And – and services, too. It sells services. Veterinary services, pest control … Excellent services, Captain Owen. Of course, we don’t quite have the money ourselves …’

      ‘What is the relationship between the Society and your Department?’

      ‘Oh, good. Very good.’

      ‘Yes, but what does the Department do that the Society does not do?’

      The Under-Secretary regarded him thoughtfully.

      ‘Manure,’ he said.

      ‘The Department supplies manure?’

      ‘No, no. The Society does that. Too. That’s another service they offer. And fertilizer.’

      ‘But then what does the Department do?’

      ‘Paperwork,’ said the Under-Secretary. ‘Yes, paperwork.’

      ‘I see. And that’s what Mr Fingari was doing?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘May I see his office?’

      The Under-Secretary summoned a minion to conduct Owen along the corridor but then, unusually, accompanied Owen himself. On the way they acquired several other minions.

      The office was of the sort common in the Ministries; high-ceilinged, because of the heat, dark because of the heavy shutters, and oddly green because of the light filtering through the green slats of the shutters. From the ceiling was suspended a huge fan.

      Owen glanced at the papers on the desk.

      ‘All to do with the Agricultural Bank,’ he said.

      ‘Well, of course; he was the Department’s representative.’

      ‘Was there anything special that he was engaged with?’

      ‘No,’ said the Under-Secretary, ‘no, I don’t think so.’

      ‘I was under the impression that there was.’

      ‘No. I don’t think so.’

      The Minister and the minions departed, leaving Owen alone in Osman Fingari’s office. He went through the desk systematically and then began on the filing cabinets. They were half empty.

      He went back to Osman Fingari’s desk and sat down. A turbaned head appeared round the door.

      ‘Would the Effendi care for some coffee?’ asked Abdul Latif.

      The Effendi certainly would.

      Abdul Latif disappeared and then came back with a tray on which was set a small brass cup and a large brass coffee-pot.

      ‘This was how Fingari effendi liked it.’

      Owen lifted the lid of the pot. Turkish. He poured some out.

      ‘Sugar in the right-hand drawer,’ said Abdul Latif.

      ‘I see you are a man who knows his Effendi’s ways.’

      ‘I did his office,’ said Abdul Latif proudly.

      The dramatic events of the past week had seen a great rise in his status in the orderly room.

      ‘And very well, too,’ said Owen, looking around.

      ‘I like to keep on top of things,’ said Abdul Latif modestly, pouncing on a spot of coffee on the tray with his duster.

      ‘And do you also bring the mail?’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘What a weight to carry!’ said Owen, shaking his head.

      ‘A weight to carry?’ said Abdul Latif, surprised.

      ‘But what