Back behind the towering stacks, at the far end of the warehouse, they came to a door set in a blank brick wall. Babu gave one small rap and opened the door. He bowed again, ushering his visitor in.
Burleigh stepped into a room that appeared to be a cross between a Bedouin tent and an accountant’s office. Behind a great slab of polished mahogany sat a slender, hatchet-faced Egyptian in a glistening silk waistcoat over a tight-fitting jalabah that was buttoned to his chin. The air was blue with the smoke of a recently extinguished cigar. “Burleigh! Come in! Come in! Peace of Allah be upon you, my friend. It is good to see you.”
“Asalaam’u, Abdel Hakim. You are looking prosperous as ever.”
“Tolerable-only tolerable. But why tempt God with complaints? Babu, you good-for-nothing, bring us whiskey!”
“Thank you, Hakim, but none for me. Too early in the day.”
“Is it?” wondered Hakim. “Well, then.” He shouted again, “Babu, bring us wine-and figs… and some of those dates.” He stepped around from behind his desk, took Burleigh by the shoulders, and embraced him. “It has been a long time, my friend.”
“Only six months,” replied Burleigh.
“That long? It seems much longer.” He smiled and waved his visitor to a carved boxwood throne covered in the fleece of a spotted goat. “I trust your journey was pleasant.”
“Pleasant enough.”
“Sit! Tell me the news of the world.”
“You know it better than I, Hakim. I only arrived yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, we had your message.” The antiquities broker settled back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his spreading paunch. “So! Here you are.”
“Here I am indeed,” Burleigh agreed blandly. “But I must say all the travel grows tedious-and buyers are more difficult to find. I’m thinking of giving it up and finding another line of work.”
“Nonsense!” cried the broker, outraged. “Never say it, my friend. We have the most successful export business this side of China. We are partners, you and I. If you quit, Hakim and Sons will die. Like grapes left on the vine, we will shrivel in the hot sun and die.”
“You have many other partners, Hakim. I expect you’ll survive.”
“True,” admitted the broker. “But none of my partners are as successful as you.”
“None who pay you as much, you mean.”
Babu entered just then with a teak tray bearing a bottle of wine, two crystal goblets, and dishes with figs in syrup and dried dates stuffed with almonds. He placed the tray on the desk, poured wine into the cups, and then backed from the room.
“Why so quarrelsome, my friend?” wondered Hakim. Seizing a cup in each fist he held them up to the light and then offered one to his guest. “Come, let us drink-to good trade always!”
“To good trade,” echoed Burleigh, raising his goblet.
They moved on to discuss arrangements for a number of items the earl had left in storage during his last visit; when that concluded, Hakim stood up and declared himself ravenous. “I could eat a camel,” he proclaimed. “Come, Burleigh, my dear friend. Dine with me. I will take you to a place I know on the river where they prepare a meal of such exquisite flavours the angels look down in envy.”
“I’m certain it is very good,” replied Burleigh, pulling his watch from his pocket. “But I had hoped to see some new things before I go.”
“Of course! Of course! And such things-” He brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Mmwa! Wonderful things! The best yet. All for you.” Hakim reached behind his desk and brought out a small white satin turban and an ebony walking stick. “But a man must eat, and the restaurant is not far. The walk will sharpen your appetite.” He bounded across the office in long-legged strides and threw open the door. “Babu, you son-of-a-dog! We are going out. Admit no one while I am away.”
He locked the door, then turned and walked to a potted palm in a huge brass pot. On the wall behind the palm hung an ornate prayer rug; Hakim lifted the corner of the rug to reveal a hidden door, which he unlocked and beckoned his guest through. “This way. It is much closer.”
Abdel Hakim Rassoul led his visitor through a dark passage that opened out into a dim walkway-merely a space between two warehouses-at the end of which lay a sunny lane wide enough for horse- and ox-drawn wagons to come and go. The Egyptian antiquities broker turned and started off along the grassy verge. The smell of the river wafted along a breeze a touch cooler than the sun-drenched air of the city, letting them know that the Nile was close by. One turning and then another brought them to the riverbank and a large old house built on stilts to raise it above the perennial floods. At the top of the stairs they were greeted by a waiter in a coffee-coloured kaftan.
“Asalaam’u,” intoned the waiter. “Blessings be upon you.”
“Salaam,” replied Hakim Rassoul. “My table, if you please.”
The waiter led them through the restaurant and out onto a shaded terrace overlooking the river. Two or three other tables were already occupied. Woven grass mats propelled by an old man on a stool in a corner of the terrace fanned the air and made a light rustling sound. “Ahh,” sighed Hakim, folding himself into his chair, “it is a refuge for the weary, careworn soul.”
“You ought to be a poet,” observed Burleigh. “Your only care is how to spend your secret fortune.”
“Oh, my friend”-Hakim pouted-“have you no heart? Look! Behold that wonderful river.” He waved a long-fingered hand at the grey-green slow-flowing water. A graceful felucca with tawny sails was passing just then, joining the busy river traffic of boats and barges on their way downstream. Feathery fronds of papyrus swayed in the breeze off the water, tossing their golden heads in chorus. “Beautiful, is it not?”
“Indeed,” agreed Burleigh. “Very.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now then, what do you have for me? What will I see when we return to your den?”
The waiter poured water from a silver ewer into small glass beakers and into a silver bowl. “We will eat whatever Hammet has prepared today,” declared Hakim. “Bring it at once-and a dish of his spiced olives while we wait.”
That done, he turned to his guest. “What will you see? You know that things have been very slow lately. The market has become stubborn. However, I have a very nice sphinx-exquisite detail, fully intact, red granite with eyes of sapphire and gold headdress, big as a house cat. I could have sold it seven times over by now, but I saved it for you, my friend. I wanted you to have first choice.”
“It sounds expensive. What else?”
“Alas, as I say, it has been a slow season. Still, there has been some heavy excavation in one of the valleys west of Luxor this past winter. Some very good pieces are becoming available just now.”
“Who is excavating?”
“A man named Carter. He is funded by a wealthy backer-a lord somebody-I forget his name…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Cavanaugh, perhaps.”
“Carnarvon,” corrected Burleigh.
“You know him?”
“Not yet. But I hope to before the week is out.”
The waiter returned with a bowl of plump purple olives, pitted and stuffed with a white pasty substance. “Taste these and know what a delight an olive can be,” said Hakim, offering the dish.
Burleigh took one and popped it into his mouth. “Very good.” He chewed a moment. “Are they finding anything? Anything worthwhile?”
“They are digging up the entire desert. It is all very hush-hush.
…” He smiled, reaching for a fistful of olives. “But, naturally,” he continued, tossing stuffed olives into his mouth, “I have my sources.”
“Naturally.”
Hakim swallowed, then leaned forward, dropping his voice, although there were no other diners within earshot. “Rumour has it that they are on the very brink of a major discovery-a royal tomb, no less.”