“Taking him to the police headquarters,” said McPhee.
“You cannot do that,” said the man from the consulate. “He is a Syrian citizen.”
“Caught redhanded,” said McPhee indignantly, “with the arms in his possession.”
“He knows nothing about the arms!” said the man from the consulate. “Someone else had put them there!”
“Oh, yes,” said McPhee sarcastically. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” said the man from the consulate. “It’s not my job to find out. It’s your job.”
"We have found out,” said McPhee.
“I don’t know about that,” said the man. “It would have to be tested in a court.”
“That’s exactly what I’m planning,” said McPhee.
“A Consular Court,” said the man.
“A Consular Court?” said McPhee incredulously. “The man’s been caught with arms in his possession.”
“A Mixed Tribunal, then.”
Even when a foreigner could be proved to have transgressed against the law of his own country he had the right to be tried by his own Consular Court. Where there was a dispute between foreigners, or between foreigners and Egyptians, the case was heard by a Mixed Tribunal, on which the majority of the judges were foreign. But that applied only to civil cases, and it had yet to be established whether this fell into that category. It almost certainly did not.
“Anyway,” said the man from the consulate, “you certainly cannot arrest him.”
“We’ll see about that,” said McPhee grimly, producing a pair of handcuffs.
“I protest!” said the consular official. “My client is a native Syrian and is outside your jurisdiction.”
Owen was tempted to let McPhee go ahead. At any rate, it might give the Syrian a shaking. But it was not worth the trouble. They would have to release him at once.
“Leave him for the time being,” he said to McPhee. “We shall be taking this up,” he said to the official.
It was possible, in certain circumstances, which included a threat to security, to expel a foreigner from the country; but it took a long time.
“I shall be taking this up, too,” said the man. “This is a gross invasion of Syrian territory. I shall be lodging an official complaint.”
“Do!” said Owen.
The consular official took the Syrian by the arm and they went back into the shop. McPhee was purple with fury.
“It makes you lose heart,” said Georgiades.
“We’ve got the grenades anyway,” said Owen.
“Not all of them,” said Georgiades.
“What?”
“Haven’t you looked?” He flipped back the top of the box. Three grenades were missing.
McPhee swore.
“When did he take them?” asked Owen. “Or were they missing before?”
“I think he took them when he left the box,” said Georgiades. “He seemed to fumble inside the box. The lid was open when I got there.”
McPhee and Owen exchanged glances. Three was enough. Enough with the Carpet coming on.
“Got nowhere,” said Owen.
“Could be worse,” said McPhee. “At least we’ve got these. You did well,” he said to Georgiades.
Georgiades shrugged. He was as disappointed as they were.
One of the constables shouldered the box and they started off along the street. Owen felt too depressed to say anything.
They had just turned the corner when there was a shout behind them. A small boy came running up.
“Ya effendi!” he hailed Owen.
“What is it?”
“I bring a message,” he panted, “from Abdul Kassem.”
Owen turned sharply. He had forgotten about Abdul Kassem.
“What is it?”
The boy hung back.
“He said I would be well rewarded,” he said.
“And so you shall,” said McPhee, bending down to him. “How much was spoken of?” “One piastre,” said the boy.
“Oh-h!” said McPhee, affecting incredulity. “A whole piastre?”
“Half a piastre,” admitted the boy.
McPhee fumbled in his pocket. “Here is a half piastre,” he said, “which you shall have when you have spoken. The other half I might let you have if I think you have told me correctly.”
The boy nodded.
“Abdul Kassem says: Come quickly.”
He held out his hand.
“Is that all?” asked McPhee.
“Yes,” said the boy.
“Come quickly? Where to?”
“Give me another piastre,” said the boy, “and I will take you.”
They found Abdul Kassem waiting outside an old Mameluke house in the Haret el Merdani. Soon after they had separated he had had the same idea as Owen. He had remembered that there was a ruined mosque nearby with its tower still standing, had climbed up that and then had had a good view of the rooftop chase. He had seen Georgiades closing on his man, watched the man stoop and do something to the box, and then had seen the man run off in the direction of the Mosque Darb el Ahmah, whose distinct turquoise cupola had stood out among the other rooftop features. He had descended from his own tower and run to the mosque, arriving just in time to see the man slip out of the mosque itself and cross the square in front of it. While on the tower he had had a good look at the man and was sure that this was the same man. No, he had not been carrying anything, not in his hands, but Abdul Kassem thought he had something stuffed in the front of his shirt, for it bulged and hung rather than billowed. He had followed the man down a sidestreet and seen him slip through the door of this house. And then he had sent the boy.
“Good work!” said Owen.
McPhee was looking at him.
“OK,” said Owen. “In you go!”
The great gate of the house was slightly ajar, probably to let a breeze blow through the courtyard. McPhee threw it wide open and the men rushed in. A porter, asleep in a recess of the entrance, opened his eyes as they went past, and then jumped up.
The men fanned out. They knew the structure of a Mameluke house and worked through systematically. The main reception rooms opened off the courtyard, and there were various recesses in there where a man could hide. The other rooms on the ground floor were either servants’ rooms, mostly cluttered around the main entrance, or storerooms. It took the men almost no time to work through them all.
Georgiades looked at Owen inquiringly. Nearly the whole of the upper portion of a Mameluke house was given up to the harem. There were no proper bedrooms in the Western sense of the word. Any room which was not being used for anything else would serve. Beds were just a few cushions, a pillow and a padded blanket, which was rolled up in the daytime and put in a cupboard.
The Mamur Zapt’s traditional right of entry extended, uniquely, to harems but it was not one to exercise without thinking about it.
“There’s no alternative,” said Owen.
Georgiades shrugged and ran up the stairs, closely followed by his delighted men. As they spread through the upper part of the house there were startled shouts and screams.
McPhee remained below.
“I’ll see no one gets out this way,” he said, a little straightly.
Owen followed his men upstairs. The first room he came to, the main room of the harem, extended through the whole first floor of the house, from the old latticed windows at the front to the small oriels at the back. It was dark and cool, so dark that at first he could not see anything at all. Then his eyes picked out various women on divans, sitting bolt upright with shock.
Afterwards, when Owen was questioned at the club, he had to admit that he took in very little. He was looking for the man and as soon as he saw the harem was occupied he knew it was unlikely the man would be there. He had scanned the room to make sure and that had been that.
Required to furnish more detail, he had been at a loss. No, they were all dressed. They had not been wearing veils, true. No, he hadn’t noticed their faces, it had been dark. What had they been doing? Chatting, as far as he could see. Oh, and one or two were embroidering or sewing or something.
“Sewing! You are a great disappointment, Owen!”