The Camel of Destruction by Michael Pearce

and gave it to Mr. Aziz. ‘Sidki. Abdul Sidki.’
    Mr. Aziz looked at the card and his eyes rounded. ‘Mr. Sidki—!’
    Sidki patted him on the arm. ‘We must have a word some time. Come and see me at the Assembly. Before too long. We’re always on the lookout for bright young men.’
    Owen remembered now who he was. He was a Member of the Legislative Assembly, one of the radicals; he did not actually belong to the new Nationalist Party—he had his own political ambitions—but was one of its most prominent sympathizers in the House.
    ‘Thank you, Mr. Sidki—’
    Sidki patted him again. ‘But now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like a word with the Mamur Zapt. That, too, is overdue.’ Aziz withdrew, impressed. Sidki now took Owen confidentially by the arm.
    ‘Good to see you here, my dear fellow. So at last they’re beginning to listen! Pretty goings on, don’t you think? Not content with making a fortune out of selling fertilizer, they now want to get everyone to change to a new seed. And at a higher price, I’ll be bound!’
    ‘It seemed to have advantages.’
    Mr. Sidki waved these aside.
    ‘And disadvantages, too, if that young man is right. And it’s the fellahin who’ll pick those up. But, Captain, Owen—’ he clutched him more firmly—‘advantages or disadvantages, that’s not the point. The point is that the benefit will all be going to private interests.’
    ‘The Khedivial Agricultural Society hardly counts as private—’
    Mr. Sidki withdrew his arm, turned and stared at Owen. ‘But surely, Captain Owen, you know? The Khedivial Society is big business. It is not like, what shall I say, the local Agricultural Society in, say, Maidenhead. (And, incidentally, Captain Owen, I do find some English placenames distastefully explicit.) The Khedivial Agricultural Society is one of the most powerful businesses in Egypt.’
    ‘Oh, come—’
    ‘Think for a moment!’ Mr. Sidki insisted. ‘It already supplies nearly half the country’s new seed. And this in a country where the cultivation of seed is the chief livelihood. You don’t do that on one pound members’ subscriptions, Captain Owen!’
    ‘Perhaps not, but—’
    Mr. Sidki seized Owen again and brought his mouth dramatically close to Owen’s ear.
    ‘Where does the money come from?’ he hissed. ‘And where does it go? There are no published accounts. We’ve asked for them but been refused. It’s not a public body, you see. The whole thing needs looking at.’
    He stepped back a little and waved at someone over Owen’s shoulder with the ready, practised smile of the politician.
    ‘Especially now,’ he said, ‘when we’re being asked to make such large sums available to the Agricultural Bank.’
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t see the connection.’
    Mr. Sidki looked at Owen as if he could not believe anyone could be so innocent. Then he shrugged his shoulders slightly as if to say that if that was what Owen wanted, then he was prepared to go on with the game.
    ‘It’s a cosy little arrangement, isn’t it? The Bank lends money to the fellahin so that they can buy seed. But it makes one condition: the seed has to be of good quality.’
    He stopped meaningly.
    ‘Well?’
    And who decides whether it is of good quality?’
    ‘The Khedivial Agricultural Society?’
    ‘Exactly. And, strangely enough, it only finds really satisfactory the seed which the Society itself has produced.’ He smiled triumphantly and watched Owen closely. ‘Cosy, isn’t it?’
    ‘And not accidental, you’re suggesting?’
    ‘I’m suggesting the arrangement needs examination to see if it’s in the public interest.’
    ‘Public audit?’ murmured Owen, who had been learning fast recently.
    Mr. Sidki made a gesture of dismissal.
    ‘Accountants look for consistencies; they don’t look at realities. Provided the story is consistent, they’re not bothered whether it’s true.’
    ‘Hum, yes.’
    ‘Otherwise, why would they let obviously dubious firms get