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The Mamur Zapt and the Donkey-Vous
Michael Pearce
A classic murder mystery from the award-winning Michael Pearce, which sees the Mamur Zapt investigate a series of suspicious kidnappings in the Cairo of the 1900s.Cairo in the 1900s. ‘Tourists are quite safe provided they don’t do anything stupidly reckless,’ Owen, the Mamur Zapt, British head of Cairo’s secret police, assures the press. But what of Monsieur Moulin and Mr Colthorpe, kidnapped from the terrace at Shepheard’s Hotel?Were these kidnappings intended as deliberately symbolic blows at the British? Owen had better unravel it quickly, or else… And where better to start from than the donkey-vous, Cairo’s enterprising youths who hire out their donkeys for rides…
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 1990
Copyright © Michael Pearce 1990
Michael Pearce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008259389
Ebook Edition © JUNE 2017 ISBN: 9780008257231
Version: 2017-08-30
Contents
Cover (#u8d56301c-9ceb-5f46-a87b-db328b813acf)
Title Page (#ubbc3b97d-f619-5b21-b141-ea6f8e245297)
Copyright (#u3e6f2004-a1f8-57ee-9479-788746184fff)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_acedf23a-4880-5caf-856a-0aa18046747e)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_8bd75c04-da58-5b0f-9fec-afe4ee34d638)
Chapter 3 (#ulink_bd313248-38f2-500c-a424-c6124bc5f3cf)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also By (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 1 (#ulink_daa0022f-eab1-5451-a9c7-016f38db380e)
Owen arrived at the hotel shortly afterwards.
McPhee came down the steps of the terrace to meet him.
‘Thank goodness you’re here!’ he said.
A cobra stretched lazily in the dirt at the foot of the steps stirred slightly. McPhee paused in his descent for a second and in that second its charmer thrust out a bowl at him. McPhee, flustered, dropped in a few milliemes.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ protested Owen. ‘You’ll have them all on to us!’
The crowd surged over them. Hands reached out at McPhee from all sides. Owen found his own hand taken in soft, confiding fingers and looked down to see who his new friend was. It was a large, dog-faced baboon with grey chinchilla-like fur.
‘Imshi! Imshi! Get off!’ shouted McPhee, recovering. One of his constables came down from the terrace and beat back the crowd with his baton. In the yard or two of space so gained a street acrobat in red tights suddenly turned a cartwheel. He cannoned heavily, however, into the snake-charmer and ricocheted off into a row of donkeys tethered to the railings, where he was chased off by indignant donkey-boys. Taking advantage of the confusion, Owen joined McPhee on the steps.
‘What’s it all about?’
‘You got my message?’
‘You’d better tell me.’
McPhee had sent a bearer. The man had run all the way and arrived in such a state of incoherence that all Owen had been able to get out of him was that the Bimbashi was at Shepheard’s and needed Owen urgently.
‘A kidnapping,’ said McPhee.
‘Here?’ Owen was surprised. Kidnapping was not uncommon in Cairo but it did not usually involve foreigners. ‘Someone from the hotel?’
‘A Frenchman.’
‘Are you sure it was a kidnapping?’ said Owen doubtfully. ‘They don’t usually take tourists. Has there been a note?’
‘Not yet,’ McPhee admitted.
‘It could be something else, then.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said McPhee, ‘at first.’
‘If it’s just that he’s gone missing,’ said Owen, ‘there could be a variety of explanations’.
‘It’s not just that he’s gone missing,’ said McPhee, ‘it’s where he’s gone missing from.’
He took Owen up to the top of the steps and pointed to a table a couple of yards into the terrace. The table was empty apart from a few tea-things. A proud constable guarded it jealously.
‘That’s where he was sitting when he disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’ said Owen sceptically.
‘Into thin air!’
‘Surely,’ said Owen, trying not to sound too obviously patient, ‘people don’t just disappear.’
‘One moment he was sitting there and the next he wasn’t.’
‘Well,’ said Owen, and felt he really was overdoing the patience, ‘perhaps he just walked down the steps.’
‘He couldn’t do that.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Because he can hardly walk. He is an infirm old man, who gets around only with the aid of sticks. It’s about all he can do to make it on to the terrace.’
‘If he can make it on to the terrace,’ said Owen, ‘he can surely make it on to the steps. Perhaps he just came down the steps and took an arabeah.’
There was a row of the horse-drawn Cairo cabs to the left of the steps.
‘Naturally,’ said McPhee, with a certain edge to his voice, ‘one of the first things I did was to check with the arabeah-drivers.’
‘I see.’
‘I also checked with the donkey-boys.’
‘He surely wouldn’t have—’
‘No, but they would have seen him if he had come down the steps.’
‘And they didn’t?’
‘No,’ said McPhee, ‘they didn’t.’
‘Well, if he’s not come down the steps he must have gone back into the hotel. Perhaps he went for a pee …?’
‘Look,’ said McPhee, finally losing his temper, ‘what do you think I’ve been doing for the last two hours? They’ve turned the place upside down. They did that twice before they sent for me. And they’ve done it twice since with my men helping them. They’re going through it again now. For the fifth time!’
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ said Owen hastily. ‘It’s just that …’ He looked along the terrace. It was packed with people. Every table was taken. ‘Was it like this?’
‘Yes. Everyone out for their tea.’
‘And no one saw what happened?’
‘Not so far as I have been able to discover.’
‘You’re sure he was there in the first place? I mean—’
‘He was certainly there. We know, because a waiter took his order. It was his usual waiter, so there’s no question of wrong identification. When he came back the old man was gone. Disappeared,’ said McPhee firmly, ‘into thin air.’
‘Naturally you’ve been along the terrace?’
‘Naturally I’ve been along the terrace,’ McPhee agreed.
‘Friends? Relations? Is he with anyone?’
‘His nephew. Who is as bewildered as we are.’
‘He wasn’t with him at the time?’
‘No, no. He was in his room. Still having his siesta.’
‘There’s probably some quite simple explanation.’
‘Yes,’ said McPhee. ‘You’ve been giving me some.’
‘Sorry!’ Owen looked along the terrace again. ‘It’s just that …’
‘I know,’ said McPhee.
‘This is the last place you would choose if you wanted to kidnap someone.’
‘I know. The terrace at Shepheard’s!’
‘About the most conspicuous place in Cairo!’
The manager of the hotel came through the palms with two men in tow. One Owen recognized as the Chargé d’Affaires at the French Consulate. The other he guessed, correctly, to be the nephew of the missing Frenchman. The nephew saw McPhee and rushed forward.
‘Monsieur le Bimbashi—’
