The Girl in the Nile by Michael Pearce

dovecot.
    “Found that body yet?” one of them asked.
    “No.”
    “You won’t, either.”
    Owen stepped aside to let a water carrier pass with his heavy bags.
    “Why not?” he asked.
    “It’s the river. Full of tricks.”
    “It’ll come up sometime.”
    “Ah yes. But where?”
    “Most of them finish up against the bridge these days, apparently.”
    “Perhaps this one will too. When it gets there.”
    Owen didn’t quite understand this and would have asked more but the two men ducked into the next house. He continued slowly along the street, noting how long it took them. Everything was going to be under control this time.
    There was nothing wrong with the efforts of his men at the moment. They were working through the buildings quickly and, as far as he could tell, efficiently.
    They turned up the next street. It contained some taller buildings with shops on the ground floor. This would take them longer. After waiting a little, Owen sauntered on.
    Halfway up the street was a tall sebil, or fountain house. It was, like the hammam, an old building, clearly predating the other buildings since the street curved back specially to accommodate it.
    It was a delightful building. Its totally curved sides were fenced with grilles of exquisite metalwork and its upper story was graciously arcaded. There was a little parapet going round the arcade and it suddenly occurred to Owen that it might provide a vantage point from which he could more pleasantly monitor proceedings.
    He climbed up the outside staircase past the fountains surrounded by black-veiled women filling their pots with water and out onto the little parapeted promenade which crowned the second story.
    From inside the arcade came the murmur of children’s voices. As with many of the larger sebils, the arcaded upper story was occupied by a kuttub, a school where little children received their first lessons on the Koran.
    Owen smiled. It was an unexpectedly tender insight on the part of the Arabs to accommodate their infants up here where it was airy and cool.
    He walked to the parapet and looked over. Down in the street he could see some of his men. They approached a house and went in. Not long afterwards, watching, he saw them appear on the roof. They looked around for a moment and then went down.
    From where he stood, high up, he could look down on the roofs of the houses. Most of them were flat and empty, save for the occasional bundle of firewood, the heap of vegetables, the pile of cornstalks. One or two of the larger houses, though, had roof gardens; and, as he watched, two women came up on to one of these and began watering the plants.
    It was a house about two along from the one he had been looking at previously. He hoped the women would have completed their task and departed before his men arrived. Servants would probably warn them but if there was an outside staircase and his men dashed up—?
    He watched anxiously. The men went into the next house and worked through it. The women went on watering.
    The men finished the house and came out into the street. And at that moment, fortunately, the women left the roof of their own accord.
    Owen breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn’t have done for the women to be met by his men. That, yet again, could have caused trouble.
    What a country this was to police in! Mosques, bathhouses, roofs—you could offend someone’s susceptibilities by searching any of them. What were you to do? If it wasn’t religion, it was women!
    His men, searching both sides of the street, had covered that block of houses and were now coming up the street towards the fountain house. He went down to meet them.
    “That one next?” said one of the men, indicating the fountain house with his hand.
    “Of course!”
    The women watched them curiously as they mounted the stairs. Owen was about to move away when one of his men appeared above the parapet and waved to him urgently.
    He ran up.
    In an inner room, beyond the chanting class, were