The Camel of Destruction by Michael Pearce Page A

away with it? Have you, Captain Owen, since you have been in Egypt, ever known auditors publicly qualify a firm’s accounts?’
    ‘No,’ said Owen, who had only just heard there were auditors, ‘er, no.’
    ‘Exactly!’ said Mr. Sidki. ‘So—?’ He looked at Owen expectantly.
    ‘You may be right, Mr. Sidki, and this matter may need investigation. But I am not sure I am the one who should be conducting it.’
    ‘A Parliamentary matter, you mean? Well, of course, you’re quite right. A Select Commission—the obvious answer, I’ve proposed it myself. But the Government won’t hear of it. And you can guess why! Vested interests, Captain Owen, vested interests! No, given the Government’s attitude, I’m afraid, it’s going to have to be someone completely independent.’
    ‘The Parquet, perhaps—’
    ‘The Parquet? Independent? A Government tool.’
    ‘Nevertheless, Mr. Sidki, I think you’ve been implying that there could be an issue of criminal law here. It’s the Parquet that would have to handle that.’
    ‘The case would never be called.’
    ‘You see. I’m concerned only with political matters—’
    ‘This
is
a political matter,’ Mr. Sidki declared.
    He looked at Owen closely.
    ‘You begin to worry me, Captain Owen. Can it be that you have received instructions…?’
    ‘Certainly not!’
    ‘I am glad to hear it. If it is true. It would, of course, be something we would have to take up in the House. I hope it needn’t come to that.’
    Owen shrugged. ‘You must act as you think fit, Mr. Sidki.’
    ‘You see, it is becoming a matter of some urgency. That agreement or arrangement or whatever it is—that understanding which no one outside the Bank understands—with the Department of Agriculture—’
    ‘You are well informed.’
    ‘Yes. We are.’
    Unexpectedly, Mr. Sidki hesitated. ‘Or were. Until recently.’
    ‘How recently, Mr. Sidki?’
    Mr. Sidki’s eyes met his.
    ‘Until Osman Fingari was killed.’

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Chapter 6
    « ^ »
    Killed, Captain Owen?’
    Mr. Fehmi was shocked.
    ‘Surely not! I thought we had agreed that this was to be a case of suicide.’
    ‘We didn’t agree it was “to be” anything. We thought it
was
a case of suicide.’
    ‘Well, yes, of course. That’s what I meant.’
    The Parquet lawyer looked at Owen with injured brown eyes. ‘How could it be anything else? He took prussic acid. No shadow of doubt! The post-mortem—your own colleague, Captain Owen—’
    ‘Yes, yes. I’ve no doubt about that.’
    ‘Then wherein lies your doubt? We found the bottle beside him in the wastepaper basket. A small brown bottle,’ said Mr. Fehmi in injured tones, ‘which he had bought the day before. Bought it himself, Captain Owen. We found the shop. Descriptions fit. Why all this complication?’
    ‘I am merely reporting an accusation.’
    ‘From whom, Captain Owen? From whom?’
    Mr. Fehmi’s shoulders bowed, as if they had suddenly been called on to support the weight of the whole guilty world in addition to the weight of Cairo’s guilty world, the burden which they already carried.
    ‘I am not at liberty to say.’
    Mr. Fehmi sat back. ‘An anonymous informant? Did he produce any evidence in support of his claim?’
    ‘Well, no—’
    Mr. Fehmi shook his head pityingly. ‘Captain Owen!’ Owen felt called on to justify himself.
    ‘The charge came from someone whom neither you nor I can afford to disregard.’
    ‘Ah well, in that case—’ said Mr. Fehmi. ‘That’s different. That’s quite different. But I still—I don’t see how it
could
be anything other than suicide, Captain Owen. He was in a disturbed state of mind—I haven’t gone into that side, you requested me not to, but I’ve heard sufficient—’
    ‘He was certainly in a disturbed state of mind.’
    ‘He bought the bottle, he took it to his office, he almost certainly drank it
in
his office. He didn’t drink it before and he didn’t go out of his office. That’s where he was