The Quest of Julian Day by Dennis Wheatley

move?’
    â€˜To find O’Kieff. As I didn’t know what the regulations were in Egypt and wanted to avoid any fuss about bringing a gun through the Customs in my luggage I had mine on me when I left the ship; so I’m quite prepared to try a hold-up or any sort of burglary if we can discover where they’ve gone to earth.’
    â€˜You think there’s still a chance of getting the tablet back, then?’
    â€˜I don’t know. He’s probably unloaded it temporarily just in case I tell my story to the police and they think there is enough in it to pay him an unexpected visit. But one thing’s certain; he’ll be in touch with whoever’s got the tablet because he can’t have had time to decipher the hieroglyphics on it yet. If we could trace it through him and get it back before he’s able to do that it would leave him in the air. We’d get a translation done in Cairo and you could slip off into the desert without his having any idea where you’re heading for.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Harry agreed. ‘Sylvia could translate it for us. But the trouble is I don’t see how we’re going to set about tracing O’Kieff. Alexandria’s a large city and we’ve only got to-nightto work in. By this time to-morrow he’ll be in Cairo.’
    â€˜That’s just the snag,’ I admitted. ‘He’s almost certain to be staying with Zakri Bey, and I was counting on Zakri’s having a house here, but according to Amin he hasn’t.’
    Harry considered for a moment, then he stubbed out his cigar. ‘I gather that this chap Zakri Bey is a real big noise in these parts?’
    â€˜You’ve said it,’ I nodded. ‘Like all the Big Seven he’s immensely rich and right up in the stratosphere of crime where the police don’t ordinarily go looking for criminals at all.’
    â€˜Is he the sort of bloke who would be accepted in the European society here?’
    â€˜Certainly. He’s an Egyptian aristocrat. As a member of one of their oldest families he is
persona grata
with most of the members of the Government and many European officials.’
    â€˜In that case I think I know one line we might try. Did you ever hear of a chap named McPherson when you were here before?’
    â€˜D’you mean the cotton magnate who’s said to be the richest man in Alexandria?’
    â€˜That’s right. Extraordinary career he’s had. When luck first came his way he was living in a flat in one of the big blocks here. He wanted more spacious accommodation and the story goes that he believed his luck was tied up in some way with his old flat, so he wouldn’t leave it, but took the flat next door and knocked the wall through. After that he took the flat opposite, and another, and another, until he had the whole floor. Then he took the floor above and the floor below, and so on, until he eventually owned the whole six-storey block. Later he went to Venice, bought an old
palaccio
that was being pulled down and shipped its huge, square, marble staircase here, gutted his block of flats and re-erected the staircase in its centre; so that to-day the place is a veritable palace; huge ballroom, library, roof-gardens and all complete. They say there’s not a single room remaining as it was originally except his simple bedroom on the third floor.’
    â€˜What an amazing story!’
    â€˜It is, isn’t it? Anyhow, McPherson and his wife are one of the most generous couples in the world and they entertain with absolutely regal lavishness. He’s an old friend of mine, and ithappens that he came down to meet some people on the “Hampshire” this evening, so we ran into each other on the dock. Apparently he’s got a big party on to-night—fancy dress show—and he pressed Clarissa and me to come along. Ordinarily it’s the sort of invitation we would have jumped at, but in view of poor old