Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet

‘You may have dazed yourself in falling,’ said Mahmoud.

‘The doctor thinks so,’ said Nuri. ‘He claims to detect a bruise on the back of my head. I must say, I am not conscious of it myself, but then, my livelihood does not depend on finding bumps on other people.’

‘You did see the man with the gun, though. Could you describe him?’

‘Not very well. I saw him only fleetingly.’

‘Was he dressed in European clothes?’

Nuri looked at him. ‘I have heard the accounts of my would-be assassin,’ he said drily, ‘and you yourself confirmed that he was a fellah.’

Mahmoud apologized.

‘I was merely trying to prompt you to recall exactly what you saw,’ he said. ‘Was he young or old, for instance, what kind of galabeah was he wearing?’

‘I do not,’ said Nuri Pasha, ‘bother to distinguish one fellah from another.’

There was a little silence.

‘In any case,’ said Nuri, ‘the fellah is not the one that matters. He is merely a tool.’

‘Have you any idea,’ asked Owen, ‘who might be using him as a tool?’

‘I am afraid not.’

‘Can you think of anyone who would wish to kill you?’

Nuri looked at Owen with surprise.

‘Mon cher,’ he said. ‘Everybody wants to kill me. Tout le monde.’

‘Come,’ said Owen, ‘you have enemies enough, I am sure, anyone in your position is bound to, but there is a difference between having an enemy and having an enemy who wants to kill you.’

‘You are right,’ said Nuri Pasha, ‘if a trifle literal. I am plainly guilty of exaggeration. Let me try to be more accurate. Only half the population of Egypt wants to kill me. The other half would just be happy to see it happen.’ He laughed, and then put his hand on Owen’s arm. ‘I joke, mon cher,’ he said, ‘but it is no joke really.’

Owen nodded.

The word ‘Denshawai’ did not need to be spoken.

Nuri’s eyes wandered away again across the garden. The girl had gone, however.

‘The fellah who tried to shoot you,’ said Mahmoud, ‘had a personal grudge against you.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Nuri.

‘It appears you took a liking to his wife’s sister—a peasant girl, like the one we saw. Only on that occasion you did send for her.’

‘Really?’ said Nuri, without much interest. ‘If so, she would have been well paid.’

‘It is just that it gives a motive,’ said Mahmoud, ‘sufficient in itself. We do not necessarily have to look for an ulterior one. The affair, that is,’ he ended carefully, ‘may be merely a private one.’

‘Since when,’ asked Nuri, ‘has the Mamur Zapt been interested in affairs which are merely private?’

‘Have you received any threatening letters?’ asked Owen.

Nuri made a gesture of dismissal.

‘Mon cher!’ he said, almost reproachfully. ‘Dozens!’

‘Recently? In the last two weeks?’

‘I expect so,’ said Nuri. ‘It is not the part of my mail to which I give the greatest attention.’

He looked at Owen.

‘You would not expect a killer to give warning, surely?’

‘It happens surprisingly often,’ said Owen.

Nuri laughed. ‘I expect it is the weakness for rhetoric characteristic of those engaged in politics,’ he said.

He glanced at Mahmoud.

‘Especially Egyptian politics.’

‘Not just Egyptian,’ said Owen. ‘However, there is a different explanation. The terrorist clubs tend to contact their targets first. Especially,’ he added, looking directly at Nuri, ‘when they are trying to extort money.’

Nuri shook his head.

‘If they had asked for money I would probably have paid.’

‘You have received a communication, then?’

‘I was speaking generally.’

Nuri leaned back in his chair and called to one of his servants. The man disappeared into the house.

‘You must speak to Ahmed,’ he said. ‘He deals with my mail.’

A sulky young Egyptian came out of the house. He seemed to walk across the lawn deliberately slowly, placed himself directly in front of Nuri, with his back to Owen and Mahmoud, and said:

‘Yes?’

‘Mon cher,’ said Nuri reproachfully. ‘We have guests.’

The young man deigned to throw them a glance.

‘Interesting guests,’ said Nuri. ‘Le Parquet et le Mamur Zapt.’