Thieves Fall Out (21 page)

The boulevard was empty of ordinary traffic. The setting sun was dull gold upon the higher windows, casting dense purple shadows against the buildings with their shuttered doors. Far away in the northwest, he could hear artillery.

He stopped under the nearest arcade just as a jeep containing government soldiers clattered by. In the next few minutes several more trucks and jeeps moved rapidly down the boulevard, all going toward Shepheard’s, away from the northwest and the firing.

Keeping close to the walls of buildings, he managed to walk the length of the block unnoticed. At the intersection he paused. Here trouble began.

A building several blocks away to the left was on fire, but no one attempted to put out the flames. A barricade had been thrown across the boulevard at this point and the police cars avoided it by driving to left and right, keeping at least two blocks distant of the mob that guarded the barricade: a haphazard collection of furniture, barrels, the body of a dead ox; a crazy fortification manned by an evil-looking assortment of men, wearing the long striped tunics of the fellahin, the workers. They were dangerously quiet, moving behind their cover, each carrying a rifle.

What to do next was a problem. The mob was in an ugly mood and Pete had already been warned that they would shoot on sight any man wearing European clothes, no matter what his nationality. Yet he had to get past that barricade, past at least a hundred trigger-happy Egyptians.

At first he thought of trying to explain to one of them that he was friendly, that he had a safe-conduct from Le Mouche. But the risk involved was too great. They were apt to shoot on sight. The language barrier was also great.

He retreated deeper into the arcade. There was now no sign of life anywhere. No police, no citizens; even the million cats of Cairo had fled. The emptiness was reassuring.

An alleyway opening off the arcade provided him with a plan. He knew that the wide handsome avenues of Cairo had been arbitrarily cut through an ancient city of narrow crooked streets, a rabbit warren that still existed behind the great thoroughfares, a kind of Casbah where the secret Arab life went on. There were many entrances to this world, alley-ways like the one before which he now stood. The only danger was that in the maze of crooked streets a stranger was easily lost, easily robbed, and as easily murdered.

He would have to take that chance. Gun in hand, he walked down the narrow alley. Knowing his position in relation to Le Couteau Rouge, he was able to guess at direction. His only danger was overshooting his mark, bypassing Shepheard’s without knowing it.

The alley soon became a street just wide enough for three men to walk abreast. The pavement buckled crazily and there was a deep channel in the middle where, during the rains, the accumulated filth was carried off.

The odors were overpowering and he found it difficult to breathe. The evening was warm and all currents of fresh air were blocked by the several-story zigzag houses, whose wooden balconies touched overhead, hiding the sky.

Every few yards more streets branched off the one he was on, offering a bewildering number of alternatives, but he kept on course by checking the stars, which had begun to appear in the violet sky.

The people were abroad in these narrow streets. They obviously felt safe in their own territory. Yellow lamplight flickered in the windows. Occasionally he would pass an open door of a tea house, where he could see the natives sitting about on the floor drinking tea and talking in low guttural voices.

Those he met in the streets seemed more afraid of him than he was of them, stepping back against the walls to let him pass. None appeared to be armed. They gave the impression of people waiting for some great event. They were very quiet; there was none of the usual shouting and laughter that ordinarily characterized their section.

They were all listening to the gunfire, watching the red haze in the narrow strip of sky visible from the street. Their watchfulness made Pete nervous. They were like caged animals awaiting some signal, a sudden freedom. He walked more quickly, gun in hand; he was taking no chances. As he walked he kept a sharp lookout for possible attackers. But no one followed him or threatened him from the dark doorways. For once they were all too concerned with the common danger to prey upon strangers.

There was no trouble until he came to a small square.

The square was an irregular area twenty yards across with a dozen streets like black holes in the shabby house fronts. As he stood watching, from several of these streets men came running in close pursuit of four soldiers that they had flushed out of a building. Several of the attackers carried torches. They were dangerously quiet as they circled the soldiers in the center of the square. Pete edged back into the shadows and watched, horrified, as the soldiers threw down their rifles and began to plead with the mob, which now had swollen to nearly a hundred swarthy silent men. Then the ringleader, a small man with eyes that glowed fiercely black in the torchlight, approached one of the soldiers stealthily, like a boxer coming out of his corner. Light gleamed on the knife in his hand. The soldiers sank to their knees whimpering. Pete looked away, hearing the first terrible scream in his head a good minute before it actually broke upon the tense still air. It was like a signal. The mob began to shout and curse, releasing its pent-up fury in a chaos of sound.

Pete pressed into a doorway, thankful for its depth. Men came running down the street past him. Fortunately, none saw him. There were three more hoarse screams clearly audible above the mob’s roar; then the sound of many feet running and the light of torches grew dim as the mob moved on to another part of the quarter.

He waited until there was neither light nor sound; then he looked out into the square. It was deserted except for four huddled shapes. He tried not to look at them as he walked quickly across the courtyard, but one brief glimpse showed they had been beheaded.

He plunged once more into the maze of streets, all deserted now. Not even lamplight shone in the narrow windows. The wooden balconies were empty. The passage of the mob had frightened even its own kind, and the people hid behind shutters in darkened rooms.

Then, just as he was positive that he was hopelessly lost, a turn of a crooked street, so narrow that at points he could touch opposing walls, brought him onto a modern thoroughfare. He had arrived at last.

Shepheard’s had a dozen soldiers in front, guarding this headquarters of European and American interests. He was let through without any delay by a sergeant who satisfied himself with one hard look that he belonged there.

The lobby was crowded with worried-looking men and women. Many of them had suitcases piled about them, belongings that they had brought from other, less safe, hotels and from their homes. These were residents of the city, come here for safety.

Pete crossed the front lobby looking for Anna. He had got as far as the bar when he bumped into Hastings.

“God’s sake!
There
you are. Looking all over Cairo for you. Afraid something happened to you. Get a drink, eh? If we can.” Hastings led Pete into the bar and they sat at the one empty table in the room and ordered gin. The room was packed with British and Americans talking in low, tight voices about “the situation.”

“Heard some strange rumors about you, boy. Seems there was trouble at your hotel. Manager didn’t know what, when we asked. Said something about your leaving, and then said they’d found Mohammed Ali in your room, looking green around the gills. What happened?” Hastings gave a good performance of an interested and sympathetic friend.

“Just about what you’d expect,” said Pete, playing along. “He came up there to get the necklace. We had a fight and—”

“He didn’t get it?” There was no mistaking the urgency of this.

“No, he didn’t get it.” Hastings sighed with relief. “But I thought I’d better get out of there and make myself invisible, for a while.”

“Smart boy. Then you still have it?”

Pete nodded. “I’m not letting it go without a fight,” he said. “I don’t think the Inspector will bother me for it again.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. He’s tipped his hand. He’s shown us, Said especially, that he’s after it, in spite of agreements, commissions, and so on. Said will get him. Never fear. Said will have his head, but meanwhile Mohammed Ali is a clever chap. He can’t afford to give up now. He’s done for in Egypt. His only hope is to get the article in question away from you and slip over the border.”

“You haven’t seen him, have you?” asked Pete.

“Who? The Inspector? Not a sign. Doubt if he’ll be around, either. Of course, all this mess changes everything.” And Hastings swore irritably for a moment.

“Just what is it, the mess? What’s going on?”

Hastings shrugged. “Don’t know any more than what I read in the papers. Papers say Jews. God knows
what
they mean. Lot of trouble between the Grand Mufti and the Zionists. Maybe the Mufti’s getting back at them. Probably all a fake, staged by the government so they can lock up a few malcontents. Good plan, too. Suggest it for other countries. Always a lot of sour apples in every country complaining. Fine. Let them complain. Then one day—boom! Say
they
started it. Lock ’em up. Do away with the lot. Only way to keep order.”

“But think how it hurts their feelings,” said Pete mockingly.

“Have no sympathy for them. Hitler was a bad egg, but by God, he had the right idea about running things.”

“I expect you’re right,” said Pete, disguising his contempt. Hastings represented the last word in the Neanderthal mind. “Does the government have everything under control?”

“Looks like it, but then riots never happen around here, never around Shepheard’s. Natives scared to death of it. Seat of the British lion and all that. They’d never touch the hotel. That’s why people flock here instead of to the consulates and embassies.”

“Maybe all this will give Mohammed Ali something else to think about.”

Hastings nodded. “I’m sure he’s under orders. Probably won’t see him until the trouble’s blown over.”

“So isn’t this the best time to get the necklace out of the country?”

Hastings chuckled grimly. “Try and get across the river even. Try to get a taxi. It’s impossible. We’re all trapped.”

“Have you checked on planes?” This was malicious, but Pete played it straight.

“Planes? No. That is, we know what everyone knows. Government in charge of airports. No flights out.”

“And Said? Wasn’t he supposed to give us the word today? Wasn’t this to be the day we make a break for it?”

“Not sure,” said Hastings evasively. “No word from him. Don’t know how much he knows about conditions here. Blackout on radios.”

“You think the government’ll survive?”

“Certainly. Fat Boy may be objectionable in ways, but he’s tough; he’ll hold on.”

Pete drank his gin; he felt better, less shaky. “What do you think I ought to do now?”

“Hang around here, I’d say. Don’t want you out in the streets with all that loot. Snipers in the area, or so they say.”

“Is Hélène here?”

“Yes. Want to give her a call?”

“Think I might. See you.” And Pete left the Englishman in the bar; but instead of going to Hélène’s room, he searched the now crowded lobbies. Anna was nowhere in sight and he was growing uneasy.

In the front lobby he paused among the murmuring, frightened Europeans, all listening to the firing, which had perceptibly increased. A little of the combined terror in the lobby rubbed off on him, terror for Anna, not for himself.

Finally he asked the desk clerk if he had seen Anna Mueller, and to his surprise and relief the harassed man nodded. “She’s here somewhere.” But that was all he knew. Pete continued his search.

Convinced at last that she was not in any of the lobbies or in the garden, he walked aimlessly down corridors. There was a chance she had gone to the room of some friend. Unintentionally, he found himself at Hélène’s door. On an impulse, he knocked.

“Come in
.”
She was seated at her writing table when he entered. She was alone. Pete hesitated for a split second; then he slipped the bolt in the door behind him. This was as good a time as any to finish the business.

If she was frightened or startled, she did not show it. Smiling, she rose. “I have been waiting all day to hear from you. Come, sit down.” They sat opposite one another. “I was terribly worried, Peter. Especially after the rioting started in the city.”

“I had a little visit from Mohammed Ali.”

“So we heard. It must’ve been terrible.” She lit a cigarette with a steady hand. He admired her coolness. “You must stay here until the emergency, as they are calling it, is over.”

“I plan to.”

“What happened with Mohammed Ali?”

“He wanted the necklace, like everybody else. He didn’t get it, but we had a good fight.”

“Thank God!” Her performance, he noted, was faultless. “We were insane to let you go back to the Stanley. He would never have dared do anything like that here.”

“How did you know what happened at the Stanley?”

“Hastings told me. He found out. We didn’t know whether or not Mohammed Ali had got the necklace, though. We were told only about the fight.”

“What would you have done if he had got it?”

She shuddered. “Don’t even suggest it!”

“I wouldn’t. Not for the world,” he mocked.

She could not ignore his tone this time. “What is wrong,
chéri
? Has anything happened?”

He chuckled. “Only a fight with the law and a revolution. Nothing serious.”

“Soon it will all be like a bad dream,” she said soothingly. “It’s not easy for any of us, but then you were warned that there’d be trouble, that you were taking a risk.”

“I didn’t realize what kind of risk it was until today.”

She pretended not to understand. “In a day or two you’ll be able to leave Egypt, for good, if you like, with the necklace. Said has great faith in you. He told me fine things about you.”

“I’m sure he did. After all, I was exactly what he was looking for.”

“We needed a stranger, unknown in Egypt, and unafraid of people like Mohammed Ali. You were just right.”