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have to cover the whole country. And not with something like Agriculture. But it’s an important Department.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘We do our best. Of course, with the Khedivial Agricultural Society—’
    ‘The Khedivial Agricultural Society?’
    ‘Yes. A very vigorous body. Set up by the Khedive himself a few years ago. With the help of some of your own distinguished compatriots.’
    ‘The Society comes under your Department, does it?’
    ‘Oh no, no. Quite independent. Private, you might say. And vigorous, very vigorous.’
    ‘It promotes discussion, I take it?’
    ‘Oh yes. Very ardent discussion, yes. And also—’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘It sells.’
    ‘It engages in business on its own account?’
    ‘Yes. It sells seed. It has an arrangement with the Agricultural Bank.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘Yes. And—and services, too. It sells services. Veterinary services, pest control…Excellent services, Captain Owen. Of course, we don’t quite have the money ourselves…’
    ‘What is the relationship between the Society and your Department?’
    ‘Oh, good. Very good.’
    ‘Yes, but what does the Department do that the Society does not do?’
    The Under-Secretary regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Manure,’ he said.
    ‘The Department supplies manure?’
    ‘No, no. The Society does that. Too. That’s another service they offer. And fertilizer.’
    ‘But then what does the Department do?’
    ‘Paperwork,’ said the Under-Secretary. ‘Yes, paperwork.’
    ‘I see. And that’s what Mr. Fingari was doing?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘May I see his office?’
    The Under-Secretary summoned a minion to conduct Owen along the corridor but then, unusually, accompanied Owen himself. On the way they acquired several other minions.
    The office was of the sort common in the Ministries; high-ceilinged, because of the heat, dark because of the heavy shutters, and oddly green because of the light filtering through the green slats of the shutters. From the ceiling was suspended a huge fan.
    Owen glanced at the papers on the desk.
    ‘All to do with the Agricultural Bank,’ he said.
    ‘Well, of course; he was the Department’s representative.’
    ‘Was there anything special that he was engaged with?’
    ‘No,’ said the Under-Secretary, ‘no, I don’t think so.’
    ‘I was under the impression that there was.’
    ‘No. I don’t think so.’
     
    The Minister and the minions departed, leaving Owen alone in Osman Fingari’s office. He went through the desk systematically and then began on the filing cabinets. They were half empty.
    He went back to Osman Fingari’s desk and sat down. A turbaned head appeared round the door.
    ‘Would the Effendi care for some coffee?’ asked Abdul Latif.
    The Effendi certainly would.
    Abdul Latif disappeared and then came back with a tray on which was set a small brass cup and a large brass coffee-pot. ‘This was how Fingari effendi liked it.’
    Owen lifted the lid of the pot. Turkish. He poured some out.
    ‘Sugar in the right-hand drawer,’ said Abdul Latif.
    ‘I see you are a man who knows his Effendi’s ways.’
    ‘I did his office,’ said Abdul Latif proudly.
    The dramatic events of the past week had seen a great rise in his status in the orderly room.
    And very well, too,’ said Owen, looking around.
    ‘I like to keep on top of things,’ said Abdul Latif modestly, pouncing on a spot of coffee on the tray with his duster. And do you also bring the mail?’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘What a weight to carry!’ said Owen, shaking his head.
    A weight to carry?’ said Abdul Latif, surprised.
     
    ‘But what did he actually do?’ asked Owen.
    He was talking now to one of Osman Fingari’s colleagues.
    ‘The Bank—’
    ‘
All
his time?’
    ‘Preparation—’
    ‘
All
his time?’
    The man capitulated.
    ‘Perhaps he wasn’t very busy,’ he admitted.
    ‘Are you all like that? Not very busy?’
    ‘We should be so lucky!’ said the man bitterly ‘There are only twenty of us and we have to cover