Read Online Donkey-Vous by Michael Pearce - Free Book Online

as normal as possible. In any case, though, I’ll put people all around the building. And on the roof.”
    “It’s a block of flats. There’ll be people coming and going all the time.”
    “At one o’clock in the morning? Carrying something? You’d have to have a bag or a case to carry that amount of money.”
    “I wish we could watch the cloakroom all the time.”
    “Can’t be done.”
    “What’s on the next floor up? Directly above the cloak-room:
    “A sewing shop. Try moving all those girls.”
    “Why don’t we bribe one of Anton’s people and ask them to keep an eye on the cloakroom?”
    “They’ve got their jobs to do. They wouldn’t be able to watch all the time.”
    “All the same…”
    “As a matter of fact,” said Nikos, “I already have.”
     
    Owen had men watching Monsieur Berthelot. The following afternoon they reported that Berthelot had been to the bank twice. The second time he had come away carrying a small leather case. On both occasions he had been accompanied by a member of the staff of the French Consulate.
    On a hunch Owen checked steamer bookings. Two passages had been reserved under the name of Berthelot on a boat leaving Alexandria in thirty-six hours’ time.
    Mahmoud had heard nothing of any deal. Unlike Owen, he was dead against it.
    “Do it once and you’ll soon be doing it all the time,” he said.
    “But people are doing it all the time,” said Owen.
    He could get Mahmoud not to intervene only by telling him what he himself was proposing to do.
    He went back to his office and worked late. Soon after ten he went home and changed into evening dress. He put a tarboosh on his head and slipped some dark glasses into his pocket. He would not be the only one wearing them. Others besides himself would have reasons for wishing to preserve their anonymity.
     
    It was still relatively early in the evening in Cairo terms and there were only about thirty people around the table. Berthelot was at the far end intent on the play. The table was brilliantly lit up. All the rest of the room was in shadow.
    Owen played standing up, reaching an arm in when it was necessary. In that way he could keep out of the light. He wasn’t sure how effective his disguise was. He was still relatively new in Cairo and thought his face generally unknown. Still, it was the doorman’s job to know these things and he might well have spotted him. Owen thought it probably wouldn’t matter if he had. He would tell Anton and Anton would worry; but so long as Anton himself was not involved in the plot he would probably keep his worries to himself. Even if he knew what was going on in the cloakroom he would probably stay out of it. He might have received an inducement to turn a blind eye, but a blind eye was what he would turn, especially with the Mamur Zapt there. Owen doubted if he would warn them.
    The important thing was that Berthelot shouldn’t recognize him. Owen didn’t think he would. He thought the disguise and the darkness was proof against that. Anyway, Berthelot was concentrating on the play.
    “
Faîtes vos jeux, messieurs
,” the croupier said. “
Faîtes vos jeux.
”
    Berthelot hesitated, then added to his stake.
    “
Rien ne va plus
.”
    The croupier spun the wheel. There was a sudden intentness, a catch of the breath. The wheel slowed and came to a halt. Berthelot shrugged and turned away. The croupier began to rake in the chips.
    “It’s Anton’s lucky night tonight,” said a Greek standing beside Berthelot.
    “It’s Anton’s lucky night every night,” said someone from across the table.
    There was a general stirring and one or two people left the table, either to refresh themselves from the jugs of iced lemonade which stood on a shelf behind them or simply to ease their backs.
    Berthelot and the Greek turned at the same time.
    “
Pardon, monsieur
.”
    “
Pardon!
”
    Berthelot made way for the Greek, who went over to the shelf and poured himself a glass of