Free The Fig Tree Murder by Michael Pearce

hurt—’
    ‘A broken collarbone! Nothing!’
    Malik took him by the arm and almost dragged him in.
    ‘Remember! I’ll pay for the
hakim
,’ Owen called over his shoulder.
    ‘You don’t need to do that, old boy,’ said Malik. ‘These fellows are pretty hardy. A few days’ rest will put him right. He’ll be back to work in no time.’
    ‘The air here is very good,’ said one of the other men in the car. ‘Very healthy.’
    There were two other men in the car—Egyptians, and very rich. There was also a remarkable array of guns.
    ‘Grabbed all I had,’ said Malik. ‘I don’t know which one will be best for the job. Never shot an ostrich before.’
    ‘Do we have to shoot it?’
    ‘Oh yes. Why not?’
    ‘Well, it’s…wouldn’t you call it farm stock?’
    ‘I’d call it game. Or wild fowl. Yes, wild fowl, I think. That would suggest a fowling piece. We have a fowling piece, don’t we, Ahmed? Or perhaps that’s too light. It’s a big bird, after all. Yes, definitely too light. One of the others, then.’
    The car bounced over the desert.
    ‘It’s the only way,’ said Malik.
    ‘Only way?’
    ‘To hunt. Tried it on horse but you never get close enough. Not with gazelles, you don’t. An ostrich would be about the same, don’t you think? Pretty fast.’
    ‘It’s got a small head, Malik,’ said one of the other men.
    ‘Have to be the body, then. Even that will be tricky. Moving target, moving gun platform. Damned exciting! Exciting, isn’t it, Owen?’
    ‘Oh, yes.’
    ‘Glad I spotted you. We’ll go into the Racing Club afterwards for a bit of lunch. They ought to stand us lunch, you know. After shooting an ostrich. Doing them a favour.’
    ‘Doing them a favour?’
    ‘Yes. The damned birds are always getting out and attacking the racehorses.’
    ‘I don’t think they actually
attack
them, Malik. It’s just that they scare them.’
    ‘Same thing, isn’t it? They’re a damned nuisance. Someone ought to speak to that old fool, Zaghlul.’
    ‘We do. Often.’
    ‘That farm is a liability.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know, Malik,’ objected one of the others. ‘It’s very picturesque, don’t you think? Interesting for the tourists.’
    ‘Well, make it more interesting,’ said Malik. ‘Turn it into a game reserve. Sell shooting rights. God, that’s an idea! I say, I’m quite a businessman, aren’t I? What an idea! Let’s put it to the Syndicate.’
    ‘Old man Zaghlul will never agree.’
    ‘Buy him out. I’ll get the Syndicate to buy him out.’
    ‘I think it’s tried, Malik. It would like the land. But Zaghlul will have none of it.’
    ‘We’ll have to make him see reason, then.’
    Over on the horizon, Owen suddenly saw a group of horsemen.
    ‘Over there! Over there!’ shouted Ahmed excitedly.
    Malik pointed the car towards them and sounded his horn. ‘Tally ho!’ shouted Ahmed. He looked at Owen. ‘That’s what they shout in England, don’t they?’
    ‘I imagine so.’
    They didn’t go in for hunts much in the part of Wales that he came from.
    The car bumped crazily across the desert, threatening at every moment to throw them out.
    ‘Damned exciting, isn’t it?’ said Malik, teeth gleaming.
    They came up with the horsemen. An old man in ragged Bedouin dress and with a rifle slung on his back rode over to them and gesticulated angrily.
    Malik took no notice.
    ‘By God, there it is!’ he shouted.
    For out in the desert in front of them a solitary ostrich wheeled and scudded.
    ‘Tally ho!’ cried Malik, leading the car in its direction.
    The horsemen scattered. Owen just had time to see the old Bedouin unslinging his gun and then he had to cling on for dear life.
    ‘Load the gun, Ahmed!’ shouted Malik.
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘Any one!’
    The ostrich, startled, ran before them.
    ‘You’re gaining, Malik!’
    ‘Got the gun?’
    But just at that moment the front wheels of the car ran into a deep drift. They all pitched forward. Owen suddenly found himself