Das Arabische Biiro: der Grossmufti
411
"He had a special passport."
I had heard he had used the passport of an Englishman
resembling him.
"The Mufti," repeated Dawalibi in a harsh and impatient
voice, "used a special passport. He used a false name. He was
disguised. His beard was shaved off," Dawalibi continued:
"Before the Mufti took the plane from Paris I had already
examined the route."
"How had you examined it?"
"I wanted to know to what extent the route was under
French and American military control. I also wanted to check
if the plane would stop at British colonies, like Malta, or
Cyprus. I therefore made a trip from Paris to Cairo, and was
satisfied with the carelessness of the inspections and the safety
of the flight as far as the Mufti's needs were concerned. I recommended that His Eminence make the trip. We are all
thankful to Allah that he arrived in Cairo safely."
Dawalibi paused and smiled obliquely. "This is the portion
of the story I can tell you. Other details must remain for a
later day."
I was satisfied.
I hurried back to my hotel, and only a few doors away from
it I saw Dr. Imam. I tried to dodge him but it was too late.
His prowling eyes had seen me first.
"I was on my way to see you," he said coldly.
"Ahlen wa sahlen," I said. "Welcome."
"I want to make an appointment to have a long talk with
you." His suspicion of me showed clearly.
"May I suggest we meet this afternoon, at my hotel?"
"Very well. I will be over at five o'clock."
Once in my hotel, I worked fast, for time was extremely
short. I told the hotel clerk: "If anyone ever phones or asks
for Mr. Marmarian, send them up to me," and slipped him
baksheesh the size of which made his eyes pop. Remember,
for callers I am Artour Marmarian."
"Yes, sair. Yes, sair."