The Mamur Zapt and the Girl in Nile. Michael Pearce

thought you said you didn’t want any senior involvement?’

      ‘Overt. No overt involvement at the senior level.’

      Another little silence.

      ‘This is hardly straightforward policing,’ said Garvin slowly. ‘I would say it was more—political.’

      ‘You said it was straightforward policing a moment ago. When you wanted to shift it to the Parquet.’

      ‘A straightforward crime. Not straightforward policing. There are other dimensions here. Political ones.’

      ‘I think Owen’s the chap,’ said Paul.

      ‘I don’t like it.’

      ‘Who does?’

      ‘I’m not going to get involved in any cover-up.’

      ‘I don’t think Owen should be asked to cover up anything,’ said McPhee.

      ‘We’re not asking him to. Not yet, anyway. And I don’t think it need come to that, not if it’s handled in the right way. With a bit of dexterity, I mean. The Press, the politicians, the Prince himself. Mahmoud. The Khedive, too, perhaps.’

      ‘It’s a tall order.’

      ‘I’ve every confidence in the boy,’ said Paul, watching him.

      ‘I still don’t like it. I’m not going to get involved in any covering up.’

      ‘I hope it won’t be necessary. But this is politics. You know, you policemen are lucky. If you meet a bad guy, you lock him up. If I meet a bad guy I usually have to shake hands with him and do a deal.’

      ‘I’m not shaking hands,’ said Owen.

      Paul smiled.

      ‘You’re in politics now,’ he said, ‘whether you like it or not. And I think you’ll find you’re going to have to take some hard decisions. Like Mahmoud.’

      ‘And, of course, there was the harem,’ said the eunuch.

      ‘The harem?’ said Owen, startled.

      ‘The Prince always travels with one.’

      ‘Even to Luxor?’ asked Mahmoud.

      ‘Certainly to Luxor. The Prince has an estate there.’

      ‘And that’s where he had been this time?’

      ‘Yes.’

      They were sitting in the cabin of the dahabeeyah. It was a modern one, specially fitted out for the Prince, and had windows. Through the window beside him Owen could see a large rat sunning itself on a mooring rope.

      ‘I had gathered the impression that the Prince had intended to be away only for a few days,’ said Mahmoud.

      ‘That is true.’

      ‘How long did he spend at the estate?’

      ‘Two days.’

      ‘Only two days? That is a very short time, especially when you have to travel all that way.’

      ‘The Prince does not like his estate.’

      ‘He was principally interested in seeing Luxor, then?’

      ‘The Prince does not like Luxor, either.’

      ‘What does he like?’ asked Owen.

      ‘Cannes.’

      In the old days, before the advent of Mr Cook’s steamers, when tourists used to sail down to Luxor by dahabeeyah, the port had been full of the old-fashioned, native sailing craft. The tourist would come and choose one. It would then be towed across the river and sunk—temporarily. This was to get rid of the rats. The trick was, though, to sail away immediately that dahabeeyah had been raised. Otherwise it would be reinfested—along the ropes—at once.

      ‘What, then, was the purpose of his visit?’ asked Mahmoud.

      The eunuch shrugged.

      ‘I wouldn’t have thought the Prince was one to wish to spend a week admiring the beauties of the river bank.’

      ‘The Prince spent his time in the cabin playing cards with the Prince Fahid.’

      ‘Ah? The Prince Fahid was on the boat, too?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Had he, too, brought his harem?’

      ‘The Prince Fahid is too young to have a harem.’

      ‘He is Prince Narouz’s son?’

      ‘Nephew.’

      ‘The Prince was perhaps showing him the sights?’

      ‘What sights?’

      ‘Luxor?’

      ‘The Prince is not interested in antiquities.’

      ‘What, then, was the point of the journey?’

      ‘I don’t know. Perhaps you had better ask the Prince.’

      Mahmoud sighed. He had warned Owen beforehand to expect this. The Prince’s entourage wouldn’t say anything. He was finding it difficult to extract even the names of the people who had been on the dahabeeyah.

      ‘Let us go back to the harem,’ he said. ‘How many wives has the Prince?’

      ‘Four.’

      ‘And they were all there with him?’

      ‘Except Latfi, who is having a baby.’

      ‘Three, then. There were three in the harem quarters?’

      ‘You spoke of wives only.’

      ‘There were others, then? How many?’

      ‘Seven.’

      ‘Can you give me their names?’ said Mahmoud, taking out a pencil and notebook.

      ‘I am afraid not.’

      ‘Are you sure? You knew Latfi’s name.’

      ‘I know all their names. But it would not be proper for me to tell you the names of His Highness’s wives and concubines.’

      ‘But I need to know! I am conducting an investigation!’

      ‘That’s as may be, but a man’s harem is his own affair.’

      ‘Not when part of it disappears overboard.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You know very well what I mean,’ said Mahmoud, exasperated. ‘I told you! His Highness has reported that a passenger on the dahabeeyah with him—’

      ‘But she wasn’t in the harem.’

      ‘She wasn’t?’

      ‘No!’

      ‘What was she doing on board, then?’

      ‘Well …’ The eunuch hesitated.

      ‘You may speak,’ said Owen encouragingly. ‘Mr el Zaki puts these questions with the knowledge and agreement of His Highness,’ possibly stretching the truth a little.

      ‘She was helping to entertain the princes.’

      ‘Helping?’

      ‘There were two others. They came on board at Beni Suef.’

      ‘On the way up to Luxor or on the way back?’

      ‘On the way up.’

      ‘Have you any objection to telling me their names?’

      ‘I don’t know their names,’ said the eunuch.

      The incident had happened on the return journey.