Crime Novella Episode One

by Peter Gifford

“What can you see?” said Miss Riley.

“Wonderful things,” replied Masters.

His torch flickered in the breath of ancient air that leaked from the tomb.

“Out of my way, you smelly little man!” said Miss Riley, completely shattering the portentous atmosphere. The digger muttered something that sounded like “imshi” under his breath and moved back into the harsh Egyptian sun, allowing Miss Riley to squeeze herself into the small space at the end of the roughly hewn passageway. Julian Masters looked over his shoulder to find her horsey face close to his own.

“Well, give me a look Julian”, she said, grabbing at his torch, “I am paying for this whole thing you know.”

Julian sighed quietly and shuffled aside, conscious of how the moment had been lost forever. And yet, for just a moment, the discovery had been his.

“Well, well,” said Miss Riley, “I think we’ve stumbled on quite a find. Quite a find indeed. This will show Audrey. Oh yes, it certainly will show my little cousin what’s what.”

Julian had heard this woman’s name mentioned repeatedly over the last month. Miss Riley wasn’t very forthcoming with the details, but it appeared that Audrey Ethel Ellis, Miss Riley’s cousin, held most of the family’s purse strings. How she had been convinced to fund this undoubtedly risky expedition was beyond Julian’s comprehension.

And yet, he thought, gazing rapt at the intricate reliefs on the wall they had just cut though, it was all about to pay off. Most handsomely indeed. For everybody.

The door opened and a little bell tinkled. For several seconds the cacophony of a Cairo street at noon—the stallholders’ yells, the tooting horns, the incessant traffic, the din of voices—filled the tiny, dark shop like a noxious gas, then the door shut out the noise and silence returned. Outside it was Cairo, 1923, and inside it was another place, and an earlier time. Nothing had changed here for decades.

The man who had opened the door was dressed head to foot in black, a black fedora pulled low, shadowing his eyes. Thin blonde hair flowed from under the hat and met the upturned collar of his black coat. He seemed to flow rather than move towards the counter at the far side of the shop, his head moving swiftly from side to side as he quickly took in his surroundings. At the counter his hand hovered over the service bell, but did not hit it.

“You know, it’s damn hot to be all dressed in black, Mr Reese,” said a voice. From the floor behind the counter rose a pudgy man, unshaven, in a grubby safari suit. “And I must admit, you don’t seem to have lived up to your reputation.”

“Really,” said Reese. It was not a question. He watched as the man looked down and registered the tell-tale bulge of a revolver’s muzzle in the pocket of his black coat.

“Ah,” said the man. He rubbed his rough chin.

“The owner,” said Reese, in the neutral monotone that served him for a voice.

“He had an unfortunate accident, I’m afraid,” said the pudgy man. “Fell down the basement stairs it would seem. I think he had too much to drink.” He took a whisky bottle from under the counter and drained the last dregs.

“Satisfactory. Time to do business Mr Feldt.”

Mr Feldt threw the bottle into the darkness of the shop and leant over the counter, staring hard at Reese. “This ain’t business,” he said, “it’s pleasure. I don’t need the money.”

“Quite. These are your instructions.” He took a large yellow envelope from within the his coat and placed it on the counter between them. His splayed fingers lined it up at a perfect right angle. “You’ll find everything very clear. Hereafter I will be having nothing to do with this business or indeed—” He paused, stood infinitesimally straighter. “You have received the full amount for your services. I assure you it would not be in your interest to go back on our arrangement.”

“Don’t worry Mr. Reese. I also have a reputation to consider,” said Feldt.

“Very good. Good day.” Reese turned moved swiftly for the door. Opening it, just before he disappeared into the streets of Cairo, he paused, and without turning his head, spoke a last time. “That goes for the dwarf too,” he said, and was gone.

Feldt looked at the envelope in front of him. From the shadows of the shop a man about three feet five inches in height wearing a suit moved into the dust-filled light. “He's good, ain’t he?” he said.

Julian reflected that after five months in Egypt he hardly ever remarked on the smell anymore. “But it’s quite overpowering!” said Ms Ellis. She held an embroidered handkerchief to her nose, in what to Julian was a somewhat condescending and very typically English fashion.

“Careful,” said Julian, as he guided her around a human form swathed in a dirty black sheet.

“Oh my Lord, is that poor person dead?” she gasped, almost on tiptoes.

“I’m sure he’s quite alright Ms Ellis; just protecting himself from the sun you know.”

And it certainly was a particularly hot day, even for Alexandria. By the time Julian had escorted Ms Ellis off the steamer and across the road into a waiting carriage, he was dripping with sweat under his boater. It was astonishing how Ms Ellis managed to remain so unruffled, especially since she was wearing a thick black dress. “There we are madam,” he said rather formally as he helped her into the carriage, “don't worry about your bags, everything will be taken to the hotel directly. Of course, your rooms at the Hotel Windsor in Cairo are prepared for your arrival later this week.”

“Do call me Audrey, Mr Masters. I plan to be in Egypt quite some time. Here, strangers in a strange land that we both are, we mustn’t hide behind the formalities our distant culture demands of us.”

Julian was briefly taken aback. It seemed such an unexpected statement from such a tightly-laced little woman, her hair in a bun, her lips set tightly even in repose. After a moment he smiled. “A beautiful sentiment Audrey, please do me the honour of calling me Julian.”

She nodded, a picture of Victorian prudery once more, and looked forward. Julian slipped a few coins to the driver. “Drive carefully Ali,” he said, and stood back to watch the carriage begin weaving its way through the crowd.

Julian had only minutes until his next appointment. He strode through the chaos to meet it, heading for a small restaurant he knew only a few streets from the pier. As he walked he thought about Ms—Audrey—and the remarkable reaction of Miss Riley when she had received news that she was on her way to Cairo to personally supervise the excavation of the tomb. He smiled, remembering how her face had screwed itself into what looked like a horse trying to eat taffy. For a moment he had enjoyed the rare spectacle of Miss Riley speechless. It was not to last long however, as a stream of vituperation exploded from her lips the like of which he had last heard in his brief stint in the army. Clearly, he thought, there was no love lost between these cousins.

In a somewhat quieter alley he found the open shop front he was looking for and took a seat at one of the tables near the street, breathing a sigh of relief as he crossed the sharp line that separated sun from shade. Immediately a young boy appeared and placed a silver tray on the table with teapot, glass and saucer and sugar bowl, and poured him a glass of tea. Julian absentmindedly spooned in sugar as he stared out into the street and waited.

The shape of a man formed out of the harsh glare and stood before the restaurant, one arm shielding his eyes. Julian half rose, and the man moved forward and took a seat next to him.

“Good afternoon Mr Masters.”

Julian stared. The man was European, but wore a light kaftan in the Egyptian fashion. His bald head, his face, and every other inch of skin that Julian could see, was completely covered in intricate tattoos. He looked like a devil out of folklore, come to life in the modern age.

The man grinned. His white teeth were filed into sharp points. “Let me get straight to the point. The man you were expecting is now feeding the pigs in a back alley. You will be negotiating with my patron from now on. His name is Mr Chuckles.” He grinned again, as if daring Julian to comment on the bizarre incongruity. “We’ll avoid any unpleasantness if you completely understand the following. My associates are very close by—in and around this establishment in fact—so sit quietly and listen carefully, because while they may not be as distinctive as myself at first glance, they are capable of some very ugly behaviour indeed. In time I will be giving you a set of instructions which you have no choice but to follow exactly, otherwise there will be dire consequences. Very dire consequences for yourself and your companions.”

He paused briefly and took a sip of tea, and before Julian could gather his wits began again. “The man you were to meet today had some particular expertise regarding an item you expect to recover from the tomb you have just discovered, correct? Never mind answering, we know this is so. My patron intends to take possession of that item. He would prefer to do it in a manner that involves the least amount of bloodshed, but that is up to you. For the moment, you are to go about your business, however remember that we are watching closely. You will be contacted again in Cairo, in exactly one week’s time. Do not tell anybody about this meeting or inform the police, or you will discover that Mr Chuckles is in fact a very brutal and cruel man. Besides,” he said, getting up and placing the glass carefully back onto its saucer, “who would believe you? Good day Mr Masters.”

The whole speech had taken less than a minute, and he was gone, back into the blinding sunlight. Julian sat in silence for quite some time. For some reason he couldn’t understand he thought—when he did begin thinking again—of Audrey, and then he immediately acted.