‘He’s not far. He never is.’
I believed that. Mr Ambrose’s Mohammedan bodyguard was huge as a mountain and strong as a Titan, but he could move with the stealth of a little black kitten in the dark.
In front of us, for the first time in a long while, I heard noises. Laughter, to be exact. Not far away down the alley, light spilled from a doorway. At my side, I felt Mr Ambrose change his course slightly.
Ah. So that’s the place we’re heading for.
Not the most inviting of establishments, I had to say. But maybe the exterior didn’t reflect the inside. Reaching the doorway, Mr Ambrose pulled aside the curtain that was half drawn across it, and led me inside. My mouth dropped open.
I had been right. The exterior did not reflect the inside properly. I didn’t think there could be an exterior to a building that fit this atrocious interior and still was legal!
The whole place was half in darkness. The red and green paper lamps dangling from the ceiling cast only a murky light on the proceedings around me, and for that, I was profoundly grateful! In the gloom, I could see scantily clad bodies swaying from side to side. Men were sitting around on cushions, inhaling smoke out of strange, bubbling, water-filled contraptions, their eyes fixed on the spectacle in front of them. Somewhere in the background, a woman was singing in a throaty voice. Somewhere in the foreground, other women were doing… other things.
Unbelievable!
I was about to open my mouth to let loose a tirade, when I felt Mr Ambrose’s hand tighten around my arm.
‘We are here to do business,’ his cold voice reached my ear. ‘Not to hold a lecture against the objectification and oppression of womanhood. Are we understood, my dear?’
I took a deep breath. If I thought that would help me calm down, I was mistaken. I got a mouthful of the poisonous fumes emanating from the pipes, and felt the need to vomit. Clenching my jaws shut tightly, I nodded.
Hold it together, Lilly! You can do this!
‘Adequate. Do you see that man over there?’
Following a discreet gesture of his with my eyes, I saw a fat man reclining on a pile of cushions in one of the more secluded corners. He was dark-skinned, but not nearly as much as some of the Egyptians I had seen. Also, the form of his face looked slightly different…
‘That is the man we’ve come to do business with - Signore Bertolino.’
Ah, Bertolino… That explained his different looks all right.
‘A Spaniard, or Italian?’
Mr Ambrose’s eyes flashed coldly. ‘A worm. But a useful one. He knows everything that goes on in this part of Egypt, at least in the disreputable quarters. If any of the bandits or Lord Dalgliesh’s agents came into his domain to sell their stolen goods or buy supplies, he will be able to find out.’
Mr Ambrose started forward, and I walked beside him, towards the fat man. We stopped not two feet away.
‘Signore Bertolino?’
At Mr Ambrose’s words, the potbelly looked up. ‘Si?’
‘My name is Thomson. I sent a man to you not long ago, hinting that I might visit you and that I was interested in buying something.’
‘Mr Thomson…’ The fat man’s eyes narrowed. ‘My congratulations, Signore. You are a most singular man. Many, many fellow Europeans have visited me here…’ He gestured to the den of iniquity around us. ‘As a friendly gesture, you understand. But none of them knew of my more delicate business dealings. You must have extensive contacts.’
‘Sufficient,’ Mr Ambrose allowed. ‘May I sit?’
‘Ma certo! Find yourself a free cushion. And the Signora, too.’ He gave me a smile so oily it could have been used to free hinges of rust. ‘Pick a cushion close to me, eh?’
Mr Ambrose folded his long legs with surprising agility. I gave Signore Bertolino a death-stare and sat down beside Mr Ambrose, as far away from the smarmy man as I could get.
‘A pipe?’ he offered, holding out one of the contraptions, from one of which he himself was smoking.
Mr Ambrose shook his head. ‘No. I’m here for business only.’
The fat man gave a sigh. ‘How sad. Well, what is it that you have come to buy, then?’
‘Information.’