Michael Pearce - The Donkey-Vous

“It fits with what Mahmoud thinks. He thinks it was done just for the money.”

“Osman does very nicely out of the tourist trade. He wouldn’t want to damage that.”

“It was Berthelot who thought there might be a religious or moral explanation.”

“I think that’s more likely. If it was just a straight money job they’d want to do it the easy way. Why go to the trouble of picking somebody off the terrace at Shepheard’s? More risky, much more likely to go wrong. You’d do that only if you wanted to be conspicuous, to strike a blow which you wanted everyone to see. That makes the religious explanation more likely.”

“Or the nationalist one,” said Owen.

Nikos went back to the palanquins. Georgiades now appeared. He, too, had been thinking of other things.

“Are you going to leave it?” he asked.

“Leave what?”

“The Tsakatellis business. Do what the girl said. Keep out of it.”

“I haven’t made up my mind.”

“You see,” said Georgiades, settling down comfortably- Owen suspected he just wanted to come in out of the heat- “there are two views. Either we can do as the girl said, stay out of it, on the grounds that we’ll only make matters worse. Or else we might feel that matters were coming to a head anyway, that the mother’s money will soon run out, that they’ll have to bring the old lady in, and that she’s likely to put the stopper on the whole business.”

“Which do you advise?”

“I don’t know.”

“Thank you,” said Owen. “That’s where I was too.”

“I don’t like leaving it,” said Georgiades. “I feel worried about that family being on its own. Perhaps it’s because they’re Greek. They ought to have a man about the house. That girl is taking on too much.”

“What girl is this?”

“Rosa. She’s a good girl. I’ve been talking to her a lot. In between the dancing. She’s worried about what will happen to them. Suppose the father doesn’t come back? Suppose he’s already dead? She’s tough enough to have asked herself that. A real Greek girl. She says the old grandmother isn’t what she was. And the mother isn’t the sort of person to run things. Besides, she’s got the boys to bring up. They need a man about the house, Rosa says. Things can’t go on the way they are. We’ve got to do something.”

“So?”

“So what I’ve done-”

“Done?”

“-is to put someone on the house. It would be nice to know about the next payment. There aren’t many servants in that house and they’d almost certainly send one of them. It will be one who’s closer to the mother than to the grandmother, closer to the girl, too. I’m backing the second houseboy.”

“Why?”

“The cook and the first houseboy were with the grandmother before the mother came. The second houseboy used to take Rosa to school. Mind you, from what I’ve seen of him I wouldn’t say he’s one who could keep a secret. He’s more the sort who blabs it all out. Still, my money is on him.”

“Was there anything else you needed to know before making your decisions?” asked Owen tartly.

“Just telling you,” said Georgiades, retreating.

The following day they came together.

“Yes?” said Owen.

“The weddings,” said Georgiades.

“Yes?”

“There was one.”

“One or two?”

“One definite. At roughly the time Colthorpe Hartley disappeared. One possible, when Moulin went.”

“We’ve got the snake charmer as well.”

“I thought you wanted independent corroborations.”

“I do, really.”

“The trouble is, there are a lot of weddings. Why should one stand out?”

“But you think you got corroboration in the case of Colthorpe Hartley?”

“That seems pretty definite. An arabeah-driver was coming in and had to wait. He was bringing someone back to the hotel. There was someone coming out of the hotel and he thought he might be there to pick them up, kill two birds with one stone. He wasn’t. By the time the wedding procession had got out of the way and he’d drawn in, the person had gone off in one of the other arabeahs. That kind of thing tends to stick in an arabeah-driver’s mind.”

“What about the person who came out of the hotel?”

“Checked with them. They confirm. When they got to the steps, the camels were still there, blocking the thoroughfare, so they walked along to where the arabeahs were standing and took one of them. The driver vaguely remembers something blocking the steps but by the time he had pulled out it had gone.”

“The person who came out of the hotel: they saw the camels. Did they see anything else?”

“A little group of people, that’s all. No struggle, no one being held or supported. No bundle that they can remember.”

“Were they able to identify any of the people?”

“They wore masks. Jesters’ masks.”

“Did you get the person in the incoming arabeah?”

“Yes. They didn’t see anything. The crowd was pretty thick. They think they might have seen a camel. They confirm, though, that the arabeah had to wait.”

“What about when Moulin was taken?”

“That’s harder to get information on. It’s too long ago. Several people thought they might have seen something. But then again, they might not have. There was a strawberry-seller and a flower-seller-”

“Oh God!” said Owen with feeling.

“You know them? I didn’t get a great deal out of them-”

“No,” said Owen, “you wouldn’t.”

“-but there was someone else who was a bit more forthcoming.”

“Not a filthy-postcard-seller?”

“No,” said Georgiades. “What made you think of that?”

“Someone else who’s got a pitch there. I’m looking for him.”

“This was a Turkish Delight seller. He had a tray which he had put down just for a moment-just for a moment, effendi! — and one of the camels in the wedding procession stepped in it and spilled all his stuff in the dust. It was so bad he had to go to a pump and wash it. That must have been bad. Anyway, when he got back from the pump the place was in turmoil because Moulin was missing. The Turkish Delight seller was really fed up, I can tell you. Not only had his Delight been messed up but he had missed most of the excitement. That’s why it stuck in his mind. Or perhaps he’s inventing it all to compensate.”

“Any corroboration?”

“Oh, lots. He’s told his story a lot of times now and everyone in the street can repeat it word for word. What is less clear is whether they’re remembering the event or just the story.”

“You got nothing, then?”

“By the time you get this far,” said Georgiades, “the facts have gone forever and these are just stories.”

“Well, OK, you’ve got something. Did you get anything on the palanquins?” he asked Nikos.

“Thirty-eight palanquins were hired for weddings that day,” said Nikos.

“Which day? Which one are we talking about?”

“The day Colthorpe Hartley disappeared. In addition to that, there would of course be private palanquins. I’ve assumed that it was a hired one, not a private one. I also assumed it would be one of the cheaper ones. That cut the number down. I’ll check them all but I thought I would start on the basis of probability.”

Nikos liked not only to have a system but to explain the system to those less fortunate, which, in his view, generally included Owen and Georgiades.

“OK, OK,” said Owen. “So what did you find?”

“Well, I’ve got a list of names.”

“Some of them would have been hired anonymously, surely?”

“No. Under false names, perhaps, but never anonymously. Not often under false names, either, since you’re expected to give a friend’s name when you go along. ”I’m a friend of Mustapha,” or something like that, and Mustapha will be a mutual acquaintance. A palanquin represents a substantial sum of money, especially if it’s ordered with camels and the owner is careful about hiring. He generally knows who he’s hiring to, even with poorest customers.”