“A policeman should not have emotions,” he announced.
Sergeant Abdullah began, “Sir, you think this boy—”
“It does not matter what I think,” answered Chafik discouragingly. He looked up ami down the street and was silent for some time. Then he said, “There he is!”
“The Turk? I do not observe—”
“The boy.” Chafik darted across the street to an alleyway.
Soon he returned and said harshly to Abdullah, “He escaped me. But how long has he been spying? Has he gone to report to the Turk? Call our man at the hotel.”
The sergeant came back to say Faisal had not been seen. “But he is small, he has the ways of a mouse,” he added.
“Or the ways of a rat,” Chafik said bitterly.
Shortly after sunset the signal came that the man was leaving, and presently they saw him, strolling in the cool of the evening.
Chafik said, “Keep away from me, Abdullah. You are too obvious in uniform.” He got up and followed Helmy to another café.
The place was crowded and the Inspector sat beside a portly sheik, using the man’s bulk to screen his slight figure. Helmy was alone at a table, reading a newspaper.
Presently a man came in and greeted the Turk effusively. Helmy offered a cigarette and after a few puffs his companion made a gesture of pleasure. The Turk smiled expansively and took a box from his pocket and passed it across the table; his pantomime seemed to say, “You like my cigarettes? Then take this as a gift.” At that moment the bulky sheiks engaged Chafik in conversation and when the Inspector looked again Helmy was alone.
During the next hour the incident was repeated, another stranger received, as a close friend, a gift made of two boxes. Watching without interruption this time, Chafik saw something pass in return for the cigarettes. When the second man had gone the Turk also left the café.
He went to a cabaret in the Bab-el-Sheik district. Once again Chafik saw the play of a stranger, a cigarette, and a gift. When the stranger left, the Inspector signaled an assistant to watch Helmy and then joined Sergeant Abdullah outside.
The stranger was still in view and Chafik said briefly, “He has a box of cigarettes I wish to examine.”
Abdullah glided into the shadows. Chafik followed slowly; he heard nothing, but when the sergeant reappeared he had the box. Unemotionally he said, “Sir, I took the precaution of silencing him. His skull was thin and the wall hard.”
“That may not be a misfortune,” Chafik said.
The small oblong box was inscribed with the name of a famous brand of Turkish cigarettes, but inside the sealed foil was a block of brownish-green resinous substance. It had a faint and peculiar odor and Chafik looked at it with loathing. “This is where the graph led us,” he said.
“Hashish, sir?”
“The essence of the crude bhang.” His thin shoulders expressed what he thought. “Helmy is a very clever man,” he went on. “He is the wholesaler. Agents meet him at the various cafés. They buy the hashish cash down, as I observed, then distribute it to their own customers. Helmy takes the lion’s profit and avoids the danger of dealing directly with addicts. He has a virtue rare among criminals — he works alone and does not let his business become too big.”
They returned to the cabaret. Outside was the man Chafik had left to watch the Turk. He said in a worried voice, “Sir, I have lost him.”
“What!”
“A man came shortly after you left. He spoke to Helmy and they both went to the cloakroom. When they did not return I investigated and found an open window...” Chafik’s face darkened. “Did a boy speak to Helmy or to this other man?”
“I did not notice, sir.”
The Inspector put aside suspicion for the moment. “This man was obviously a bodyguard,” he said. “When he saw me follow the agent, he warned Helmy. It is a pity, but not too important. We now know how hashish enters Baghdad and this beast who battens on human weakness is trapped within our city. His arrest is certain.”
He called headquarters and ordered a general alarm, then went with Abdullah to Helmy’s hotel. The man had not returned. They searched the room and found many boxes of hashish. Chafik said, “He takes only a few with him when he goes to meet the agents. Such a cautious man.”
They left men to watch and returned to headquarters. The general alarm was in operation; every officer in Baghdad was alerted, mounted patrols had sectioned off the city, motorized squads stopped all cars on the highways. In the middle of this web Chafik sat at his desk.
But he had troublesome thoughts. Once he announced, “It could be coincidence Faisal carried the garbage, but why was he hidden near the café?” Later he said, “I dealt roughly with him; he may have been afraid to show himself. I am naturally suspicious when followed.” This time he pounded the desk with vexation.
“My habit becomes intolerable,” he told Abdullah. “I shall go home and rest. Helmy has a good hide-out.” As he left he said in the familiar hollow voice, “Must I tell Leila about the boy? What can I tell her that will not give pain?”
He walked to his car parked on the landscaped square near a clump of rhododendron. He had a feeling of letdown and was not his usual alert self.
As Chafik opened the door of the car, a man rose from the bushes and struck a shrewd blow with a blackjack. Then he bundled the inert Inspector into the front seat, got in, and drove away.
Two policemen coming up Al-Rashid Street saluted as the familiar car passed.
Chafik was in a room, lying on the floor. The first thing he saw was a vaulted ceiling decorated with arabesques in gilt paint. He announced, “Turkish influence. This is an old house.” He tried to sit up, but pain stabbed his head and he closed his eyes again.
The next time he opened them he saw a man astride a chair, arms folded on the back. The man said, “A very old house and a convenient neighborhood. Your police will search for days.”
Chafik blinked against pain. His head was clearing and he stared at the man, thinking: This is what I hunted. An ordinary man, one who might have been my neighbor. Aloud he said, “Nevertheless, you cannot hide here indefinitely. Arrest is inevitable.”
Another man came within vision, a squat barrel-chested man who was doubtlessly the bodyguard. The man held a leather blackjack.
Helmy said, “Restrain yourself, Ali.” And to Chafik he said, almost with apology, “He is like a mastiff.”
“I, too, have a faithful henchman.” Chafik thought of Sergeant Abdullah, the comfort of those broad shoulders and accurate gun: then he had another thought that was not comforting, and asked, “Is the boy also faithful to you?”
Helmy was puzzled. “What boy?”
“The one who helped with the garbage.”
“I always use a brat to help me, it disarms suspicion. But I don’t use any particular boy,” he said.
Chafik smiled in relief. “My mind is clear of an unjust suspicion,” he said.
Helmy pulled the chair close to the Inspector. At near view the Turks mouth and eyes warned Chafik that this was not a neighbor who lived within society, and the laws protecting it. Here was one who coldly calculated chances, made crime a business. Such a man would know no pity.
“I have a proposition,” Helmy said conversationally. “You will write a note to cancel my arrest. I will leave on the train tomorrow.”
“A simple proposition, I agree. But not practical. Such an order would be questioned by my superiors.”