Michael Pearce - The Snake Catcher’s Daughter

“Three times: once in an appartement, once in an arabeah, and once in my own house. She said it was without your knowledge. Is that true?”

“Wife? I haven’t got a wife!”

“When she came to my house, she left a diamond behind. Deliberately. I wondered if that too, was without your knowledge?”

“I haven’t got a wife,” said Philipides, moistening his lips.

“It is important, you see. Planting evidence, as, of course, you know, having been a police officer, is a crime. I was wondering if you wished to be charged with her.”

“I haven’t got a wife,” said Philipides. “I haven’t got a wife! This is a trick!” he burst out. “A plot! I haven’t got a wife!”

“It will be easy to check,” said Mahmoud.

“Check, then!” said Philipides, turning on Mahmoud. “Check!”

“She told me she was your wife,” said Owen.

“It is a lie! I haven’t got a wife,” said Philipides, weeping. Mahmoud looked at Owen. Owen knew that he was wondering if he had got it right. He was wondering himself.

“She said she was your wife.”

And then something came into his head, something that Selim had said as they walked away from the girl’s appartement. Not Philipides’s woman, but-

“Is it true that you are not married?” he said to Philipides.

“It is true! I swear! Check-”

“Perhaps it is true,” Owen said thoughtfully. “But then, why-?”

He thought hard. Then-

“Philipides,” he said, almost gently, “I really think that you should talk to Mr el Zaki. In your own interests. I think you may be right, that there is a plot against you. Only it is not I that am framing the plot, it is another, whom you know very well. Think for a moment: a woman comes to me and leaves a diamond. The diamond is later referred to in the press as evidence that I am guilty of accepting bribes. It is a plot against me. But at the same time, Philipides, it is a plot against you. For the woman claimed to be your wife. I can think of only one reason for that: she wished to incriminate you. Why was that, do you think?”

“I do not know. I have done nothing-”

“I will tell you. Because the man behind this wished to cover his tracks. At your expense. You know the man, I think. Perhaps you should tell Mr el Zaki about him.”

Paul brought the telegram to the club that evening and showed it to Owen. It was from Wainwright.

Suggest change venue Flower Show not time. Move closer to river. Heavy watering should do trick.

“Does that mean he’s still coming?” said Paul crossly.

“Oh, my head!” gasped Selim. “Oh, my head!”

“Just bloody get a move on!” snapped Owen.

“I come, effendi, I come! Oh, effendi,” said Selim, falling in beside Owen and clutching his head, “do you think the Aalima put something in the drink again?”

“No, you just drank too much of it.”

Georgiades came up.

“I checked the names the teacher gave you,” he said. “This was the only one who lived in the Gamaliya.”

“I want you to get them both,” said Owen. “Both Hassan and the brother-in-law. Be careful with the brother-in-law. He may have a bag of snakes with him.”

“Snakes!” said Georgiades. “What the hell do I do with them?”

“We ought to have brought a catcher, I suppose. Selim! The second man may have a bag with him. You take charge of that.”

“Abdul!” he heard Selim saying a little later. “I’ll take the man, you take the bag.”

“But, Selim-” pleaded Abdul’s worried voice.

The house was part of a derelict block which backed on to waste ground.

“We’ll have to cover the rear,” said Owen.

“You do that,” said Georgiades. “I’ll go in through the front.”

As they approached, a man detached himself from the shadow and came up to them.

“They’re still there,” he said.

“Good,” said Georgiades. “OK, we’re putting somebody at the back, too. Take Owen effendi round and show him which house. I’ll give you ten minutes,” he said to Owen.

There was a door at the back of the house and an outside staircase leading up on to the roof.

“Check if there’s anyone up there,” whispered Owen. The man slipped silently away and returned in a moment shaking his head.

Owen put Selim one side of the door and Abdul the other. Then he withdrew a little way with the third man so that they could deploy themselves as reserve.

It was the middle of the afternoon and there was no one about. Everyone was inside sleeping. The heat was intense. It felt as if a clothes iron was pressing between his shoulders. Sweat, merely from the walk, though in Selim’s case probably also from the beer, was running down their faces.

Selim, listening at the door, suddenly held his hand up. Abdul twitched and raised his truncheon.

Then the door burst open and a man came running out.

Or would have come running out if Selim’s great arms had not suddenly enfolded him.

“Not so fast, my lovely!” said Selim, and nodded his head to Abdul. Abdul struck once. Selim lowered his burden to the ground and sat on him.

As Owen came up, he caught the whiff of snake oil.

“Ah!” he said.

He stepped past and went on into the house. Somewhere a woman was screaming. He saw Georgiades in a doorway.

Georgiades nodded and stepped back. Owen followed him into the room. The only light came from one small window which had been part-blocked against the sun. There was a man lying on the floor. A constable knelt beside him forcing his arms up his back. As Owen came in, he turned his face towards him.

“Hassan?” said Owen.

The house was a fine old Mameluke house. To the street it presented a high wall, with a large wooden door, strong enough for a castle, in a richly decorated archway. There were no windows on the ground floor but above the archway a row of corbels allowed the first floor to project a couple of feet and above that were three rows of oriel windows closely screened with rich meshrebiya woodwork. The door opened into a courtyard along one side of which was the mandar’ah, or reception room, and it was there that Demerdash Pasha received him.

The mandar’ah had the usual sunken floor of black and white marble and in its centre one of the little fountains called faskiya played into a shallow pool lined with coloured marble. At one end of the room was a large dais with cushions, where the master of the house would welcome and entertain his guests if he felt so minded. Demerdash did not feel so minded and received Owen standing by the faskiyar.

“I did not appreciate when we met, Pasha,” said Owen, after the formal greetings were over, “that you were such a benefactor of the press.”

“Benefactor?”

“I gather that you are paying their fines. Or rather, Al-Lewa’s fines. Or so I understand.”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Oh, absolutely none. Except that I am the man who is imposing the fines. And I thought I would tell you the size of the sum you will be obliged to meet.”

He named the sum.

“But that is colossal!” cried Demerdash.

“Substantial, certainly. But then, so is the scale of the libel.”

“Outrageous!”

“You can test it in the Courts if you wish.”

“I certainly shall.”

“I am not sure that I would if I were you. You see, it would certainly emerge that the libels, in my case at least, were based on planted evidence.”

“You would have to prove that.”

“Oh, I could. I could even show where the stones had been purchased. And who had purchased them. And all that would come out at the subsequent trial.”

“Subsequent trial?”

“Well, naturally. These are serious charges that you would be faced with.”