“The curbash was abolished years ago.”
One of Cromer’s first acts had been to abolish the use by government officials of the curbash, the whip, as a means of enforcing obedience.
“I know, but the fund still exists. When the curbash was abolished they set it up to compensate anyone who was whipped after the abolition. You see, they couldn’t rely on the local beys not to forget it had been abolished. So they set up this fund to compensate victims in serious cases of abuse. They didn’t want to make too much fuss about it, otherwise the whole population would come along claiming they’d been whipped. So the fund’s administered by the Mamur Zapt.”
“Have there been any claims?”
“Not recently.”
“And there’s a grant each year?”
“That’s right. That’s what makes it so convenient. The trouble is, we’ve been having to spend more money on bribes lately. It’s never enough. So,” concluded Owen, “I have to transfer money from the Camel Watering Account.”
“Otherwise you’ll have to cut back on bribes?”
“Yes.”
Garvin toyed with the ebony paperweight on his desk.
“Yes,” he said, “I see your point.”
He thought for a moment or two.
“Can’t you use some other account?”
“No. It’s nearly the end of the financial year and most of the money’s been spent. Anyway, why the hell should I? The system’s worked all right up to now. The Consul-General wants the work done, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t want to know about it. And above all he doesn’t want to see it appearing in the accounts. They are scrutinized, you know, by a parliamentary committee back at home. How do you think it would look if there was a Mamur Zapt Bribes Account? All the little Postlethwaites would go berserk.”
“We don’t have to call it that. ‘Special Purposes’ or something like that.”
“Create something new in finance,” said Garvin, “a new code, a new sub-heading, and that’s always the thing that gets picked out. Stick to what they’re familiar with.”
“OK,” said Owen. “I’ll stick to the Curbash Compensation Fund. But I still want some more money in it.”
“That’s what they all say. Including the Khedive. He wants his allocation upped too.”
“It’s his money, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s ours. He doesn’t have a bean, other than what we lend him. That’s why we’re here.”
Of all the countries in the world, Egypt was perhaps the most thoroughly in debt. Its international indebtedness had reached such alarming proportions under the previous Khedive that its Western creditors had become seriously alarmed. Britain, as the largest of these, had stepped in to sort out the country’s chaotic finances. But that had been thirty years before, and the British were still there. Egypt’s finances, they claimed, were still unsettled.
“Besides,” said Garvin, “all he wants it for is to go to Monte Carlo again. So we’re not keen.”
“But my money-” Owen began.
“Is part of it. He wants a larger allocation in any case. That means more taxes. And here there’s potentially big trouble, because the way he wants to do that is by taxing the Copts more.”
“Just them?”
“Just them.”
“They won’t be pleased.”
“They’re not pleased.”
“I’ve not heard anything about this.”
“You wouldn’t have. It’s still being fought out inside the ministry. Finance are resisting it strongly. No wonder. They’re all Copts.”
“If this gets out-”
“Yes. You’ll be busy, won’t you?”
“I’ll need more money.”
Garvin shook his head.
“No chance. There’s a veto across the board on any increase. Until the main thing gets settled.”
“What do I do, then?”
“You’ll have to use the resources you’ve got,” said Garvin, and smiled ambiguously.
“Well,” said Georgiades, “I’ve found out what you wanted.”
He came into the room and poured himself a glass of water from the earthenware jug which stood, as it did in all the offices of Cairo, in the window so that the air currents could cool it. Although it was very hot, Owen had not put the fan on. It was a huge, three-bladed affair suspended from the roof and when it was at full blast it was hard to keep papers still on his desk. “It was the Zikr?”
“The man who put the dog in Andrus’s tomb and the man who got stabbed are one and the same Zikr.”
“You’re sure?”
“Ali is sure.”
“I’m not going to ask you how he made sure.”
“It cost a lot of money.”
Owen winced.
“He had to do deals. Each of these gangs have got their own territory. Ali’s territory is the Coptic graveyard so he had to make arrangements with the gangs in the Moslem graveyard. It’s a big one and there are three gangs involved.”
“The more people in it, the more it’s likely to get out.”
“If anything get out,” said Georgiades, “it won’t be linked with us.”
“I hope so. I certainly hope so.”
Georgiades put the glass down and mopped his brow. He was a bulky man and had been walking the streets and the sweat was running off him.
“What are you going to do now?”
“It gives us a motive, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?”
“That’s why Zoser killed him.”
“Why should Zoser care? It’s not his tomb.”
“Zoser doesn’t think like that. For him it’s a religious matter. It was an affront to his God.”
“Which he decided to avenge?”
“Yes.”
“All by himself?”
“Why not?”
“He’s only a little man,” said Georgiades, eyeing the glass again. He made up his mind and poured out some more water.
“Are you saying you think someone put him up to it?” Owen demanded.
“What do you think?”
“I think,” said Owen, “that at least we’ve got bloody Zoser. That’ll satisfy the Moslems. And the Copts are hardly in a position to complain. We could look for the people who put him up to it. In fact, we might well do that. Quietly. No hurry. But we don’t have to.”
“You’d prefer to see it ended?”
“Yes.”
“OK.” Georgiades finished the glass and put it down.
“As long as everybody else sees it the same way,” he said.
“I can’t use this?” said Mahmoud.
“You can use it,” said Owen, “but not in court. My informant is not in a position to testify.”
“A pity. There’s no chance you could persuade him?”
“No chance at all.”
“What about the first identification? The Zikr who planted the dog?”
“That too.”
“Pity. You see, if I had the original identification I could at least match it up against a description.”
“Afraid not.”
“The same informant?”
“The same informant.”
“You’re relying on him a lot.”
“I think he’s pretty reliable.”
“But he won’t talk? In public, I mean?”
“That’s right.”
“Well,” said Mahmoud, “it’s something, at any rate. Now that I know what I’m looking for I’ll see if I can dig it out by other means.”
“Are you going to pull him in?”
“Not till I’ve done some more checking. I’d like to have a bit more before I go for him.”
“Don’t leave it too long. Otherwise he mightn’t be there when you go to pick him up.”
And that was the trouble. For when, two days later, Mahmoud’s men went to call on Zoser, they found that the bird had flown.
CHAPTER 7
Didn’t you ever have a man on him?” said Owen incredulously.
Mahmoud flushed.
“I don’t have as many men as you,” he replied angrily.
“Even so!”
Owen was furious. He had counted on wrapping this up. With Zoser inside, at least he would have headed off trouble from the Moslems. Now he couldn’t count on that. And suppose they found out that a man had slipped through their fingers? It would be even worse. Mahmoud had bungled it. Not to pick Zoser up was fair enough, he had advocated that himself. But not to put a man on him. That was bloody stupid.