The Mamur Zapt and the Donkey-Vous. Michael Pearce

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 lemonade.

      ‘Monsieur?’

      He offered to pour for Berthelot.

      ‘Merci, monsieur.’

      They stood sipping the lemonade together.

      ‘It’s a hot night,’ said the Greek.

      ‘Is it always as hot as this?’

      There were fans working but since the room had no windows they merely moved the hot air round.

      ‘It’s been hot all day. Monsieur is new to Cairo?’

      ‘We’ve been here just over a month.’

      ‘Ah. Not long enough to get used to it.’

      ‘How long does it take to get used to it?’

      The Greek spread his hands. ‘A lifetime. And then it’s no use!’

      They went back to the table. The play began again.

      The room was long and thin with deep luxurious carpets and heavy wood panelling. A door led off into an inner room, out of which waiters emerged regularly with drinks. They brought the drinks to the players. There was no bar as such. Drink was incidental at Anton’s. Besides, most of the players were Moslem.

      An arch behind Owen led back into the entrance vestibule. Through it he could see one end of the cloakroom counter. Since Berthelot had arrived one player had left and four more had entered. The one who had left had departed soon after Berthelot had appeared and, Owen thought, had gone straight past the cloakroom. It was a hot evening and very few people had brought coats. A number had brought walking sticks which they deposited.