Chapter 9 Fiends in High places
“I’m not sure I want to go ashore at Algiers,” said Ida. “The French rule has not eradicated slavery, and I am afraid of my temper getting the better of me if I see a slave ill-treated, I fear I might get myself into trouble. Also, I do not want to smell opium if it is for sale.”
“Mother has forbidden me to go ashore, she’s afraid of white slavers,” said Vera.
“I doubt any slavers would touch those who are obviously well-connected; but trafficking of peoples of all colours is a problem,” said Alexander. “Neither of you is likely to hied off to the tent of some sheik, but as I can quite easily see Ida attacking someone.”
“Yes, and one of them is Mr. Paul, who has been serenading Vera,” said Ida.
The strains of the popular song, ‘Algiers’ could be heard sung in that young man’s voice, and both Ida and Vera giggled.
“Algiers, Algiers
It breaks my heart to say goodbye
A spirit far away is calling
As oriental shades are falling
My tears, Algiers
Hold back the things I strive to say
Forgive, forget
Who knows I may return some day.”
“I’ll forgive as soon as I can forget that wretched song,” giggled Vera.
David and Paula Amberside went ashore, for the novelty’s sake, and returned chattering and laughing with sundry souvenirs, and a bottle of perfume of respectable size, which Paula showed off.
“Real attar of roses, and it was only ten bob!” said Paula.
“That fell off the back of a lorry somewhere,” said Alexander. “Or, around here, more likely the back of a camel, and I don’t mean the aeroplane. The real thing that size would set you back guineas in two figures.”
“Really? I shall appreciate it the more then. You’re not going to arrest me for receiving stolen goods?” Paula added, jocularly.
Alexander laughed.
“None of my business; it’s under the jurisdiction of Metropolitan France, and I can’t say I’m that bothered about a bit of petty theft,” he said.
Paula liberally applied the scent, then frowned.
“Something’s wrong with it; it isn’t spraying anymore,” she said.
“Here, let me have a look,” said David, unscrewing the large, ornate top. “Oh, hello, that’s odd; the tube is still in the bottle and… there’s some kind of rubber cap.”
“Let me see that, my lad,” said Alexander, taking the bottle and expertly prying out the rubber bung. He sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “Oil of opium; very pure. And worth more on the open market even than the attar of roses.”
“Not perfume? Well, that was an expensive ten bob,” said Paula. “I don’t want opium.”
“Someone has come up with a new way of smuggling that filth,” said Alexander. “Or rather, it’s a new twist on an old gag of hiding the smell with perfume. I’m going to write to a friend of mine in the Sȗreté, Jules Maigret. He’ll be interested in this, I’m sure. David, my lad, can you take me on shore to find this vendor of perfume?”
“Yes, of course,” said David. “Are you going to arrest him?”
“No, but I want to get a look at him before I report this locally,” said Alexander. “Give me fifteen minutes to get ready, and to write a telegram for the captain to send to Paris.”
Alexander went ashore with David pushing his chair.
“I’m pretty sure I remember where he had his stall,” said David. “He had some pretty scarves as well, and I bought a few for Paula. It was all sorts of bits and pieces.”
“Hmm, yes, the sort of thing a small time thief would have,” said Alexander.
Alexander was unaware that he was followed by the faithful Campbell, who only needed a nod from Ida. After all, who knew what trouble ‘the Major’ could get into with some bright young thing as a guide, reasoned Campbell; and Miss Ida plainly agreed.
The sun beat down relentlessly, and Alexander was glad of the boater he was wearing to protect himself from it. The smell of human and animal waste warred with the smells of spices on stalls and incense burning in a variety of scents from the light and pleasant to the sickly and overbearing. To a man used to the cacophony of a western city, who no longer registered hearing the constant roar of traffic of the metropolis, the noises of this city were alien, and so seemed louder. The foreign voices calling their wares, sounds of metal-crafting in workshops right on the street, and the regular hawking and spitting, said to be the true sound of the east, assaulted Alexander’s ears as he struggled to separate and make sense of alien sounds. He knew he would make a poor policeman here unless he was used to them, for though filtering out the sounds of his own milieu, he heard and reacted to any change which was out of the ordinary. Here, he had no way of knowing what was common, and what was not! And the buzzing of the eternal flies, was enough to cause him to call on David to halt, so he might purchase a small fly whisk from the bazaar to keep them away. It was a simple device with a plaited leather handle and horse-hair whisk, and David bought himself one as well.
oOoOo
The stall to which David led Alexander had been roughly overturned, and a few broken tourist items had been ground underfoot.
“Looks as if whoever he nicked from caught up with your vendor,” said Alex.
“Do we ask questions?”
“I doubt it will be much point; the locals will have seen nothing, if they have any sense,” said Alexander. He frowned, and beckoned a bright-eyed street boy, holding up a coin. “Son, can you describe what you doubtless did not see happen?” he asked in French.
The urchin gave him a gamin grin.
“It was the police who came, effendi, whom I did not see at all,” he said.
“And did you fail to see if they arrested the vendor?”
“Indeed, effendi, I did not see how they collected up all his wares and took him away.”
He ran off with the largesse Alexander threw him.
“Did you follow that?” Alexander asked David.
“More or less; he did not see the police?”
“From the way I worded it, the police came but the child swears he saw nothing of them arresting the vendor. That protects him from anyone who might object to him talking. Though he should be safe speaking about an arrest. Unless the supposed police were no such thing, and were bold villains. I think we should go to the Préfecture.”
Major Police Inspector the Honourable Alexander Armitage got to see the Préfet in person pretty quickly. The Préfet, one Charles Dubonnet, was a florid man in his forties, who seemed to suffer from the heat, and had a ceiling fan in his office, which rattled and clacked its accompaniment to business with the insistence and volume which put Alexander strongly in mind of having an office in the middle of a marshalling yard. The inevitable flies which did their best to settle on the blades of the fan were, he thought whimsically, like so many passengers changing trains in rush hour, clinging grimly with standing-room only. He fancied he could hear the rattling device, like the wheels of a French train declaring it to be ‘chemin de fer! Chemin de fer!’ which enabled generations of British schoolboys to remember the name of the iron railroad in hearing it in the wheels of trains passing.
Alexander accepted the cup of too milky coffee which fuelled the French policeman in the way a strong cup of Darjeeling fortified his English counterpart.
“What can I do for the English inspector?” asked Dubonnet.
“I hope that it is information with which I may aid you,” said Alexander. “My young friend here bought perfume for his wife, but it turned out that there was only a whiff of perfume at the top, and the rest was oil of opium, something I know the scent of, naturally, in the course of my duties. It struck me that this should be communicated to Paris, but I thought it courteous to come to you. The perfume had been, I suspect, stolen by a petty thief, who had no idea of its real contents, or he would not let it go for no more than two francs.”
“Indeed! That is a ridiculous price; and your friend was alerted by this?”
“My friend here has very little concept of the cost and was shocked to discover that his wife had been cheated.”
“He speaks little French, I think?”
“He is too young to have served in the war; so yes, he knows your language as well as any Spanish cow,” said Alexander, happy with this singular idiom for a clumsy way of speaking.
“Well, doubtless he will wish to get back to his wife, and commiserate with her; tell him you can swear out a complaint for him,” said Dubonnet. “You and I can discuss what is best done about this.”
“It’s not really my business,” said Alexander. “But of course, I could not leave it without reporting it.”
“To be sure you could not,” said Dubonnet. “You can dismiss him; I will see that you are properly taken care of.”
Alexander wondered if he had imagined the instinct that sent a shiver down his spine. But he turned to David.
“M. le Préfet says you can go back to Paula,” he said. “I will make a deposition on your behalf.”
“Right-ho, if you will be okay?” asked David.
“I am sure M. Dubonnet will find someone to push my chair for me,” said Alex. “Inform Campbell that I may be a little while. He’ll worry otherwise.”
“Of course,” said David. He nodded to Dubonnet, and strolled out. Alexander took the opportunity as Dubonnet held the door for him, to pour the remains of his coffee down beside him in his wheelchair, where the padding absorbed it. It tasted horrible. He made sure to be tilting the cup, apparently draining it, as Dubonnet turned back.
“And now, we get to the part where you tell me that I am a material witness, and must be taken into protective custody, I suppose,” said Alexander.
The florid face went purple.
“And why do you say that?” demanded Dubonnet.
“There is no other reason for you to ask me to remain, if you are not complicit in the smuggling, and wish to prevent me from reporting to Paris, before you can make sure the shipment goes out, and the trail is then covered,” said Alexander.
“Your accusation is nonsense, of course, and it will be shown to be the ravings of a man who has caught a fever in Algiers,” said Dubonnet. “It is most unfortunate, but I fear the sickness will be fatal. I will, of course communicate with your ship that you were taken ill. You had not spoken of your surmises to the other English boy, or he would not have left so trustingly. But I cannot leave you to speak of this; nothing personal, you understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” said Alexander. “I understand that a man who is already badly wounded and hoping to recover with the sea air must be held to be susceptible to disease. What were you planning, Malaria, or Yellow Fever?”
“Malaria responds too well to treatment. I also consider rabies.”
“If it counts at all, I would prefer not to succumb to rabies,” said Alexander. There was a surreal quality to this conversation. The Préfet was watching him closely, and Alexander realised the bitterness of the coffee really was not due to it being badly made. He slumped down somewhat in his chair.
“I will leave it to a doctor who will do anything for me,” said Dubonnet. “In the meantime, the chloral hydrate in your coffee will render you unconscious in a very short time, and I will be forced to send for an ambulance.”
“I fancied I felt dizzy and as if I was losing control,” mumbled Alexander. He reverted to English. “You won’t get away with this,” he slurred.
“But I will, my English colleague, because nobody will suspect,” said Dubonnet. “I am glad I thought to drug your coffee.” Alexander grunted unintelligibly, and Dubonnet picked up the telephone.
“Put me through to Doctor Mansouri,” he said. A pause. “Mansouri? Special treatment for a patient; he is an aristocratic Englishman and there must be no mistakes in his treatment. You understand me? Good.”
David was not expecting to be accosted by Campbell.
“Where’s the major?” asked Campbell, without preamble.
“Oh! He said he would swear out a complaint for me; the Prefect said I could leave.”
“You’re an idiot, sir,” said Campbell. “I’m glad I didn’t trust my major entirely to you. Go and tell Miss Ida that ʼimself has got imself into a scrape, and I’m ʼandling it.”
“But… what do you mean?”
“Just go back and tell ʼer,” said Campbell, roughly. “Gawd ‘elp us, ʼe’s bein’ ʼeroic again, but I won’t let ʼim.”
He heard the clanging of an ambulance, and scowled, hunkering down to watch as it arrived, and a familiar wheelchair was carried out with an apparently unconscious body in it, which was loaded into the ambulance. Campbell moved swiftly, leaping onto the broad rear mudguard, and hanging onto the rear lamp, as the vehicle, an old army surplus model, speeded away.
He dropped off as they got to the hospital, and slid inside the back door whilst the crew was still unloading Alexander. Campbell peered in the window in a door and saw a room for discarded clothing for washing. He slid in, and grabbed a white coat, which he put on. Someone had left a stethoscope in the pocket of his heavily soiled greens; his loss, thought Campbell, snagging it round his neck. His French was perfect, indeed, better grammatically than his cockney English.
He exited the laundry room in time to follow after Alexander, who was being taken to a single ward. He heard one of the team checking him in as ‘high fever, suspected yellow fever.’ Campbell did not believe this for a moment. He waited for the team to leave Alexander, and slipped into the private room.
“Gawd struth, major, wot ʼave you got yourself into this time?” he demanded, not expecting an answer.
“Campbell? How the hell are you here already?” asked Alexander.
“I follered you, di’n’t I?” said Campbell. “Strite up, I’m glad I did, I knew that feckless bright young thing would never manage to get you back safe.”
“It wasn’t his fault; I told him to I go, before Dubonnet revealed his perfidy. He’s a civilian.”
Campbell grunted, and would have said more, but a doctor came into the room.
“You may leave; I will handle this one,” he said.
“Yes, doctor,” said Campbell. He went to the door, opened it and shut it, as the new doctor got out a syringe.
“Yellow fever, a nasty case; I fear you won’t regain consciousness, Englishman,” murmured Dr. Mansouri.
He got no further, as Campbell rabbit-punched him in the neck.
“Nicely done,” said Alexander. “I had planned to come awake at him and break his wrist.”
“I think ʼe’ll do nicely with ʼis own dose,” said Campbell, who knew enough nursing from having cared previously for Basil Henderson. He injected the contents of the syringe. “Give ʼim the same charnst ʼe was willin’ to give to you.”
“They’ve taken my chair, Campbell,” said Alexander. “I think I can make it out on my own, but I won’t be able to leg it.”
“ʼArf a mo,” said Campbell. “Get ʼim into bed, an’ put on ‘is coat an’ stethoscope, an’ we walks away, ponderous-like, discussin’ somethin’, an’ I’ll leave you, lookin’ through notes, an’ see what I can nick.”
Alexander was glad to sit at a table where some member of staff had left his or her post, probably for a cigarette. Everyone in Algiers seemed to smoke. And it wasn’t all tobacco; but that was not his problem.
Campbell presently returned with a bundle of white cloth and a cushion. He had managed to darken his skin and was dressed in the clothes of a wealthy Arab.
“’Ere, get yerself in that linen cupboard an’ get pregnant wiv that, an’ put this on,” he said.
Alexander did as he was bid, and discovered that he had harem pants and an all-covering upper garment which fell almost to the knee, and covered his face, the costume of a noble Algerian woman. He sniggered. It would cover his weakness to have the cushion thrust into the harem pants.
He hid his shoes inside the costume as well; they were hand-made for him, and were comfortable and he did not want to lose them whilst wearing the slippers Campbell had found.
And then they strolled out of the front entrance, and Campbell summoned a taxi.
“I wonder what happened to my wheelchair,” sighed Alexander, after they had been left on the wharf.
“Well, I wasn’t goin’ to ‘ang abaht wiv murderous crooked cops to find aht,” said Campbell. “Sorry, major.”
“At least I can walk now,” said Alexander.
They were challenged by a sailor at their ship’s gangplank.
“ʼEre! You Ay-rabs, shab orf, you ain’t allowed ʼere,” he said.
“Bugger orf, matelot, my man’s ʼad a busy day an’ jus’ escaped bein’ topped by a murderous doctor, so don’t give me yor bleedin’ lip,” said Campbell.
The tones of Bow Bells were enough to get them past the gaping sailor, and down to Alexander’s cabin, where Ida burst in.
“Alex! I know your walk, why are you masquerading as a harem girl?”
“I’ll tell you all, presently, but can you get off a telegram to Maigret and tell him that Préfet Dubonnet is deep in with the smuggling, and that I barely escaped him with my life,” said Alexander. “Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it was a little hairy.”
“I will return with a tea tray and I had better hear the whole,” said Ida.
“Yes, dear,” said Alexander.
An hour later, in pyjamas, sipping tea and eating cake, he regaled Ida with the tale.
“I don’t think I’ll let you go off and do things on your own again,” said Ida. “What can we do?”
“You did it, in letting Maigret know,” said Alexander. “Let the French deal with it. He’s going to find out sooner or later that I gave him the slip, but he won’t know how or when, and he can’t try to arrest me on a British ship. In his shoes, I’d cut my losses and run for it.”
“Well, it seems very unsatisfactory to me,” said Ida. “Save in one particular.”
“What’s that?”
“You escaped,” said Ida.
