“Shall I drive, Father?”

Emerson said no, of course, so the young people got in the tonneau and I took my place beside my husband. At my request he drove more slowly than usual, so that we could converse.

“Did Percy really snatch a live grenade from the hand of a terrorist?” I inquired.

“Don’t know,” said Emerson, pounding on the horn. A bicylist wobbled frantically out of our way and Emerson went on, “When I arrived, a pleasant little skirmish was already in process. Ramses—who was slightly in advance of me—and Percy were fending off the presumed anarchist and a mob of his supporters armed with sticks and bricks. Most of them dropped their weapons and scampered off when our reinforcement arrived, although,…” Emerson coughed modestly.

“The scampering began as soon as they recognized you,” I suggested. “Well, my dear, that is not surprising. What is surprising is that the leader had grenades, and the others only sticks and stones.”

“I don’t believe the others were involved,” Emerson said. “They pitched in out of sympathy when they saw an Egyptian attacked by soldiers. It was a singularly amateurish attempt; the first grenade only blew a hole in the pavement and wounded a donkey.” He turned his head and shouted, “Did you recognize the fellow, Ramses?”

“No, sir. Sir—that cab—”

Emerson yanked at the brake. “Nor did I. He looked like a harmless tradesman. A more important question is where he obtained modern weapons.”

“The police will undoubtedly wring the answer from him,” I said grimly.

“Don’t be melodramatic, Peabody . This isn’t the Egypt we once knew; even in the provinces the kurbash has been outlawed and torture forbidden.”

Emerson swerved wildly around a camel. Camels do not yield the right of way to anyone, even Emerson. I clutched at my hat and uttered a mild remonstrance.

“It was the fault of the camel,” said Emerson. “All right back there, Nefret?”

“Yes, Professor.”

It was the only sentence either of the children had uttered, nor did they speak during the rest of the drive. Emerson said only one thing more. “All the same, Peabody , someone had better find out how that fellow laid his hands on those grenades. Where there are two, there may be more.”

I must be getting old, Ramses thought. It’s becoming more difficult to remember, from one encounter to the next, precisely who I’m supposed to be.

A glance in the long mirror next to the divan where he sat reassured him: gray hair, lined face, fez, a flashy stickpin, and hands loaded with rings. There were a lot of mirrors in the room, not to mention beaded hangings, soft cushions, and furniture so heavily gilded it glowed even in the dim light. In the distance, muffled by the heavy velvet hangings over windows and doors, he heard women’s voices raised in laughter, and the thump of music. The air was close and hot and heavy with a musky perfume.

Invisible hands drew the hangings aside and a figure entered. It was draped in filmy white fabric that fluttered as it waddled toward him. Ramses remained seated. The precise etiquette would have been difficult to determine, but whatever else el-Gharbi might be, he was not a woman. He was, however, in absolute control of the brothels in el Was’a.

The huge figure settled itself onto the divan next to Ramses, who wrinkled his nose involuntarily as a wave of patchouli wafted round him. El-Gharbi didn’t miss much. His round black face broadened in amusement.

“My perfume offends you? It is very rare and expensive.”

“Tastes differ,” said Ramses, in his own voice. El-Gharbi knew who he was. The disguise was only a precaution, in case he was seen entering the place.

He waited with the patience he had acquired through long experience in Egypt while the formal litanies of greeting were exchanged. May God grant you a good evening; how is your health? God bless you; and finally a courteous and conventional, My house is your house.

“Beiti beitak, Brother of Demons. I never thought I would have the honor of entertaining you here.”

“You know I didn’t come here for entertainment,” Ramses said. “If I had the power to do so I’d put you out of business.”

Gargantuan laughter shook the divan. “I admire an honest man. Your sentiments, and those of the other members of your family, are well known to me. But my dear young friend, putting me out of business would only worsen the conditions to which you object. I am a humane employer.”

Ramses couldn’t deny it. Why were moral questions so often cloudy, with no clear-cut right and wrong? The right thing, the only right thing, would be the complete elimination of the filthy trade; but given the fact that it existed and probably always would, the unfortunates, male and female, who plied it were better off with el-Gharbi than they had been with some of his perverted predecessors. “Better than some,” Ramses admitted grudgingly.

“Such as my former rival Kalaan.” The big man pursed his reddened lips and shook his head. “A disgusting sadist. I owe his removal to you, and I acknowledge the debt. That is why you came, wasn’t it, to ask a favor? I presume it concerns your cousin. We haven’t seen as much of him lately, though he does drop by now and then.”

“His habits are no concern of mine,” Ramses said. “I came about another matter. You have heard, I suppose, about the incident outside Shepheard’s this afternoon?”

“Incident! A pretty word! All Cairo knows of it. You aren’t suggesting I had a hand in that? My business is love, not war.”

“Another pretty word for an ugly business. Where did he get the grenades? Who were his confederates?”

“Since he died before he could speak, we will never know the answer. The other men denied complicity; it is believed they will soon be released.”

“Died? When? He was alive when they took him to hospital.”

“Less than an hour ago. Have I told you something you did not know?”

“You haven’t told me what I want to know.”

El-Gharbi sat like a grotesque statue, his eyes hooded. “He did not get the weapons from me. Certain… merchandise sometimes passes through my hands. I sell it in other markets. A man does not scatter poison in his own garden. I tell you this much because, to be honest, my dear, I don’t want you coming round and stirring up trouble. Not that it isn’t a pleasure just to look at you,” he added, simpering.

Ramses laughed. “Most kind. Where did he get them, then?”

“Well, dear boy, we all know there are German and Turkish agents in Cairo . However, I do not believe they would make use of a nobody like that fellow. So, that leaves only one likely source. It is not necessary to mention his name. I do not know his present whereabouts. He does not approve of me.” El-Gharbi folded his fat, ringed hands and sighed soulfully.

“He wouldn’t, no. Can I believe you?”

“In the matter of War—of his present whereabouts, yes. Frankly, I hope you catch him. Patriotism is a nuisance; it stirs up trouble. I don’t want trouble. It interferes with business.”

“I do believe that. Well…” Ramses uncrossed his legs, preparatory to rising.

“Wait. Don’t you want to know about your cousin?”

“What makes you suppose I would ask about him?”

“Two reasons. Either you wish revenge for his part in that… unfortunate affair a few years ago, or you have forgiven him for it and hope to save him from my vile influence.” With a rich, oily chuckle, he offered the box of cigarettes. “It is said in the city that he is trying to get back in the good graces of you and your family.”

Ramses selected a cigarette and took his time lighting it while he considered this remarkable speech. He felt as if he were engaged in a verbal chess game with someone whose skill was far beyond his own. How much did el-Gharbi know about that “unfortunate affair”? The girl Percy had abused and got with child had not been one of his stable, but the identity of Sennia’s father was probably known to every prostitute and procurer in the Red Blind District. The rest of the story, and Percy’s part in it, was not common knowledge. And yet el-Gharbi had spoken of revenge…