are at a critical stage–’
‘And it’s important to carry the community with us. The business community, that is.’
‘And with confidence so low–’
‘It is really a very inopportune moment for him to die.’
‘Most difficult.’
‘Now if only he could have died a day or two later–’
‘You don’t think that could be arranged by any chance, Captain Owen? After all, it makes no real difference. He’s dead anyway, isn’t he?’
‘The family–’ Owen began.
‘Leave that to us. I’m sure that could be arranged. We’ll talk to them, Captain Owen.’
‘But–’
‘Look at it like this; it’s actually giving the poor chap a few extra days of life. Don’t be hard-hearted, Captain Owen. Don’t deny him that! Think of the poor fellow, think of his family–’
‘You want me to alter the date of his death?’
‘Well, that would be most kind of you, Captain Owen. Most kind.’
‘It’s the family, you see.’
‘Distressed, naturally.’
‘It is a very respectable family,’ said Ali Hazurat earnestly. ‘Otherwise Mr Hemdi would not wish his daughter to marry into it.’
‘But–’
‘The arrangements were all made. The wedding contract was about to be signed. My nephew was looking forward–’
‘A dowry?’
‘Considerable. It was a great opportunity for my nephew. And now, alas–’
‘But surely the wedding can go ahead? After a suitable period, of course. Your nephew was not that closely related to Osman Fingari.’
‘It reflects on the family, you see. It’s making Mr Hemdi think again.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that, but–’
‘It’s the shame, you see. Suicide! No one will want to marry into a family with suicides.’
‘I’m afraid I really don’t see what I can do–’
‘Couldn’t you,’ pleaded Ali Hazwat, ‘just call it something else? An accident, perhaps?’
‘He took prussic acid.’
‘By mistake! Couldn’t it be by mistake? He thought it was something else. The wrong bottle–’
‘Well, at least there’s going to be no doubt about the circumstances,’ said Paul.
‘No?’
‘Alone? Certainly not!’ Mr Istaq was shocked.
‘I do not wish to trouble Mr Fingari, you see.’
‘Well, no, there’s been enough trouble as it is.’
‘And he’s very frail, so I thought–’
‘Well, yes, but – alone! What can you be thinking of, effendi? She is a decent Muslim girl.’
‘It was just that in the circumstances–’
‘Why do you want to see her, anyway, effendi? What can a woman know? Why not ask me? I will do what I can to help you.’
‘Well, thank you, it is very kind of you, Mr Istaq. But then, you see, you would not be able to help me in quite the same way. After all, though a relative, you did not actually live in the house and therefore would not know–’
‘Yes, but alone! With a man! No, really, effendi–’
Mr Istaq, hot, bothered and worried in equal proportions, took some time to be persuaded. He was, when all was said and done, the relative who had shown Owen the body and felt that he bore some responsibility for the consequences.
But then, he was also the closest and most senior male relative and, given old Mr Fingari’s frailty, it all devolved on him anyway. He was a simple journeyman tailor and all this was a bit much for him.
He knew, however, what was proper. And it was not proper to let his niece talk to strange men. Aisha was inclined to be headstrong, anyway. His brother had always given her too much scope. That was all very well, things were not, perhaps, what they used to be, but who would want to marry a woman used to having her own way? And it was likely to be him, Istaq, who would be left with the problem of marrying her off.
In the end a compromise was reached. Owen was allowed to interview her but in Mr Istaq’s presence.
Owen had always known this was the most likely outcome. It was customary in Egypt for female witnesses to be interviewed through their father or husband or a near male relative. He had, however, hoped to avoid it in this case.
The girl appeared, heavily veiled and dressed from head to foot in decent, shapeless black. All that could be seen of her was her eyes, which were suitably cast down.
‘Miss Fingari, I am sorry to trouble you further in such sad circumstances but there are one or two things I would like to ask you.’
The girl moved slightly and Mr Istaq cleared his throat.
‘You saw your brother every day, of course?’
Mr Istaq looked at Aisha, hesitated and then reluctantly admitted that this was so.
‘Had you noticed a change of spirits in him lately?’
‘No,’ said Mr Istaq confidently.
‘Had he seemed at all worried?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps a little depressed occasionally?’
‘No.’
The girl had not yet spoken.
‘I ask,’ said Owen, ‘because I am wondering what could have brought him to this sad state of mind?’
He put it as a question and then waited, looking inquiringly directly at the girl.
She did not reply. Mr Istaq, not quite sure how to respond, muttered uncertainly: ‘No sad state’.
‘Had he ever talked to you about problems at work?’
‘Certainly not!’ said Mr Istaq, shocked.
‘Or problems not at work. Not at home, of course, but in his private life?’
‘No,’ said Mr Istaq firmly.
‘I wonder,’ said Owen, ‘if there had been any changes lately in his way of life?’
‘No,’ said Mr Istaq.
‘But that is not true, Miss Fingari,’ said Owen, still addressing himself to the girl although she had not yet spoken. ‘Everyone knows that there had been changes in his way of life. He had had a lot done to the house, for a start.’
‘No changes!’ snapped Mr Istaq, caught off balance.
‘But there had been!’ said Owen, wide-eyed. ‘The man-dar’ah – new marble! And I think the better of him for it. So often people rise in the world and forget their family. But was Osman Fingari like that?’
‘No,’ said the girl firmly.
‘No,’ echoed Mr Istaq.
‘Everyone says he loved his parents.’
‘He did,’ said the girl.
‘He