Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet. Michael Pearce

the square, though, the foot police were still in action, prising out the students from their hiding-places among the stalls and chairs. Owen was pleased to see that McPhee had them well in hand. It was only too easy for them to get out of control in a situation such as this.

      McPhee, helmetless and with his fair hair all over the place, was plainly enjoying himself. His face was lit up with excitement. It was not that he was a violent man; he just loved, as he would have put it, a bit of a scrap. Strange, thought Owen, for he was a civilian, an ex-teacher. On second thoughts perhaps it was not so strange.

      He was using a cane, not a pick-handle. He had a revolver at his waist but had not drawn it throughout the whole business, even when he had been threatened in the car.

      He was driving slowly round the square now, ostensibly chivvying the students, in fact, Owen noted, calling off his men.

      At the far side of the Place the Mounted Troop had reformed and was sitting at ease, the horses still excited and breathing heavily, pick-handles now hanging loosely again from the riders’ wrists.

      Georgiades reappeared.

      He spotted the tea-seller and came up to the stall.

      ‘Here is a man who deserves to be favoured of Fortune,’ he said, ‘the first man back on the street with his tea.’

      ‘I shall undoubtedly be rich,’ said the tea-seller, ‘but not yet.’

      He made Georgiades some mint tea. The Greek took the glass and stood casually by Owen.

      ‘See how our friend is already rewarded!’ he said to Owen. ‘Heads are the only thing damaged on the street today.’

      ‘And my head not among them,’ said the tea-seller.

      He took the lid off the urn, looked inside and went to fetch some more water.