damage.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s all part of the mamur’s job. At Heliopolis, at any rate.’
Salah laughed.
‘Heliopolis is a bit different from the usual district. I quite like it, though. The Syndicate’s good to work with. They get on and do things, and that’s what this country needs.’
He looked sideways at Owen.
‘I’m quite a Nationalist, you know. Not a Party member, of course. I wouldn’t go as far as that. That was what you wanted to talk to me about, wasn’t it?’
Owen nodded.
‘The Syndicate said that it had evidence that some of the workforce were professional agitators. I just wondered how reliable that evidence was.’
‘Pretty reliable. It asked me to do a bit of digging, in my spare time. That was before I took up the post here. I checked on the backgrounds of some of the men they mentioned.’
‘The man I am interested in is named Wahid. He works in the track-laying gang.’
‘I know the man. Yes, he was one of them. I can tell you quite a lot about him. He was one of those who failed the secondary certificate so he couldn’t go on to one of the higher colleges. I think he always felt bitter about that, I think that may explain—Anyway, he’d failed and that was that. He had to go into an office as a junior effendi. He went into Public Works.’
‘Not Railways?’
‘No, no. This was some time ago, five or six years ago. And he went in as an effendi, not as a labourer. He stayed there for about three years and became increasingly dissatisfied. He wasn’t getting anywhere, or, at least, not as far as he thought he ought to be getting and he put it down to bias. Anyway, one day, after an argument, he walked out. There’s a gap in the record after this. He appears to have done a number of odd jobs, some of them possibly in the docks, for the next time we heard of him, which is when he applied for a job with the electric railway, he produced a reference from a warehouse at Bulak.’
Salah looked at Owen.
‘The reference was false. When I checked at the warehouse they’d never heard of him.’
‘The company didn’t check at the time?’
‘They didn’t bother. He seemed the sort of man they wanted—experience of hard labour, shifting sacks of grain, that sort of thing.’
‘Why did you check the references?’
Salah stared at him.
‘Why did I check the references?’
‘Him particularly.’
‘He was one of several. The company asked me—’
‘They picked him out? Why was that, I wonder?’
‘Because he was difficult, I suppose.’
‘I can understand that. But that doesn’t necessarily make him a Nationalist. I’m still looking for evidence of a Nationalist connection.’
‘There’s plenty of that. He’s been seen at Nationalist meetings.’
‘So have half the workforce, I imagine.’
‘Playing an active part.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Distributing leaflets.’
‘That’s more like it. But it hardly makes him a professional agitator.’
‘Have you heard him talking to his gang? He’s always stirring up trouble!’
‘I’ve no doubt about that. But
professional
!? Paid?’
‘There’s no direct evidence. But—’
Owen was silent. He thought it very likely that Wahid was a Nationalist. He was pretty sure, from what the men had said, that he tried to raise them to action in pursuit of their grievances. But that didn’t make him a planted agitator.
‘I’d need more evidence of a direct Party connection,’ he said, ‘before I could be sure that the Nationalists were behind this.’
‘There
is
evidence,’ Salah insisted.
‘Can you produce it?’
‘You will have it,’ promised Salah.
Sand had drifted against the fences of the pens, in several places bending them over. Men were working on them to repair them. The ostriches were huddled on the far side of the pens.
The old Arab, Zaghlul, whom Owen had seen on the day of the ostrich hunt, was overseeing the work.
‘Yes,’ he said impatiently, ‘the fences were damaged.
‘Well, I suppose it’s all part of the mamur’s job. At Heliopolis, at any rate.’
Salah laughed.
‘Heliopolis is a bit different from the usual district. I quite like it, though. The Syndicate’s good to work with. They get on and do things, and that’s what this country needs.’
He looked sideways at Owen.
‘I’m quite a Nationalist, you know. Not a Party member, of course. I wouldn’t go as far as that. That was what you wanted to talk to me about, wasn’t it?’
Owen nodded.
‘The Syndicate said that it had evidence that some of the workforce were professional agitators. I just wondered how reliable that evidence was.’
‘Pretty reliable. It asked me to do a bit of digging, in my spare time. That was before I took up the post here. I checked on the backgrounds of some of the men they mentioned.’
‘The man I am interested in is named Wahid. He works in the track-laying gang.’
‘I know the man. Yes, he was one of them. I can tell you quite a lot about him. He was one of those who failed the secondary certificate so he couldn’t go on to one of the higher colleges. I think he always felt bitter about that, I think that may explain—Anyway, he’d failed and that was that. He had to go into an office as a junior effendi. He went into Public Works.’
‘Not Railways?’
‘No, no. This was some time ago, five or six years ago. And he went in as an effendi, not as a labourer. He stayed there for about three years and became increasingly dissatisfied. He wasn’t getting anywhere, or, at least, not as far as he thought he ought to be getting and he put it down to bias. Anyway, one day, after an argument, he walked out. There’s a gap in the record after this. He appears to have done a number of odd jobs, some of them possibly in the docks, for the next time we heard of him, which is when he applied for a job with the electric railway, he produced a reference from a warehouse at Bulak.’
Salah looked at Owen.
‘The reference was false. When I checked at the warehouse they’d never heard of him.’
‘The company didn’t check at the time?’
‘They didn’t bother. He seemed the sort of man they wanted—experience of hard labour, shifting sacks of grain, that sort of thing.’
‘Why did you check the references?’
Salah stared at him.
‘Why did I check the references?’
‘Him particularly.’
‘He was one of several. The company asked me—’
‘They picked him out? Why was that, I wonder?’
‘Because he was difficult, I suppose.’
‘I can understand that. But that doesn’t necessarily make him a Nationalist. I’m still looking for evidence of a Nationalist connection.’
‘There’s plenty of that. He’s been seen at Nationalist meetings.’
‘So have half the workforce, I imagine.’
‘Playing an active part.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Distributing leaflets.’
‘That’s more like it. But it hardly makes him a professional agitator.’
‘Have you heard him talking to his gang? He’s always stirring up trouble!’
‘I’ve no doubt about that. But
professional
!? Paid?’
‘There’s no direct evidence. But—’
Owen was silent. He thought it very likely that Wahid was a Nationalist. He was pretty sure, from what the men had said, that he tried to raise them to action in pursuit of their grievances. But that didn’t make him a planted agitator.
‘I’d need more evidence of a direct Party connection,’ he said, ‘before I could be sure that the Nationalists were behind this.’
‘There
is
evidence,’ Salah insisted.
‘Can you produce it?’
‘You will have it,’ promised Salah.
Sand had drifted against the fences of the pens, in several places bending them over. Men were working on them to repair them. The ostriches were huddled on the far side of the pens.
The old Arab, Zaghlul, whom Owen had seen on the day of the ostrich hunt, was overseeing the work.
‘Yes,’ he said impatiently, ‘the fences were damaged.
Similar Books
