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group.”
    Paul ruminated.
    “I suppose you’re right. You’ve got to balance risks. However, Gareth, I’m beginning to worry about you. You’re taking an increasingly cold-blooded view of things. It’s not like you. I shall ask Zeinab to straighten you out.”
    “It’s not something I like.”
    “No. Well, going back to this question of warning people. I’m still not happy about letting them go as unsuspecting lambs to the slaughter. You know about it and I know about it. Oughtn’t others too, so that they could take precautions?”
    “What precautions could they take?”
    “See they’re not being followed. Stay at home. I know it’s not much, but oughtn’t they to have the chance? The ones most at risk, at any rate?”
    “The judges?”
    “For instance.”
    Owen sipped his drink thoughtfully.
    “The trouble is,” he said, “where do you draw the line? Would you have said Fairclough was most at risk? Don’t we leave ourselves open to the charge of looking after the people at the top and letting the poor devils at the bottom, the Faircloughs, fend for themselves?”
    Paul was silent. After a while he shrugged.
    “OK,” he said, “so what are we going to do? Leave well alone?”
    “I’m not too happy about that either,” Owen admitted. Paul went on thinking.
    “What we
could
do,” he said, “is issue a confidential warning to Government employees to lie low generally for the duration of the present political emergency. We could tie it to that, not to any terrorist activity. You know, say that choice of a government is a matter for the Egyptians only, that it’s best if the British are seen to be having nothing to do with it, that in the circumstances, just for the time being, while the crisis remains unresolved, it might be better if everyone kept out of sight.”
    “Like the Army?”
    “Like the Army.” Paul brightened. “That’s it! It will look as if we have got a policy. I’ll get the Old Man on to it first thing in the morning.”
    “It’ll make the Army happier too.”
    “Yes.” Paul looked at him reflectively. “Although, you know…Are you sure you wouldn’t like to change your mind? In the circumstances.”
    “About keeping the Army out of it? Quite sure,” said Owen.
     
    Fairclough sat uncomfortably on his chair, a worried expression on his face. Dark smudges of moisture were spreading out almost visibly beneath the armpits of his suit. It was very hot in the room. A fan was going but with three people in the small space the temperature had risen uncomfortably.
    The Parquet official, Mohammed Bishari, had almost completed his questioning. Owen wondered why he was there. It was not usual for the Parquet to invite him to sit in on its cases. However, he had wanted to find out from Mohammed Bishari how the case was going anyway, so had come readily enough.
    Mohammed Bishari was a wiry, intense little man in his early forties. They would have put one of their most experienced men on the case since it involved a Britisher.
    He had been taking Fairclough through the events on the day of the shooting, concentrating on the homeward ride. He was very thorough. He had even asked Fairclough where the donkey was tethered during office hours.
    He was coming to the end of that part. He must have asked Fairclough those questions before, since they were written up in his preliminary report, a copy of which had been sent to Owen. Fairclough hardly needed to think to answer them. What Bishari was doing, presumably, was confirming things for the record.
    The report drawn up by the Parquet official was very important in the Egyptian judicial system. The Egyptian system was based on the Code Napoléon and, as in France, the Parquet had the responsibility not just of investigating but also of preparing the case and carrying through any prosecution. The court often decided issues on the basis of the Parquet’s report, or
procès-verbal
, rather than on the basis of testimony in court, which in