Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 31, No. 4. Whole No. 173, April 1958

Victor Canning Death in Morocco

It was cool on the hotel verandah. The fans made a gentle noise as they swung round and round, water sparkled from a little fountain in the garden, and beyond the white, flat-topped houses the Red Sea stretched away under the noon sun like a sheet of beaten brass. Listening to the girl talk, Dr. Kang reflected that the stupidity of some women was a bottomless well. He sat there, a plump, broad-faced man nearing his middle forties, wearing a well-cut silk suit — a man of bearing and presence. Behind his thick-lensed glasses, which he had recently taken to wearing, his dark eyes never left the girl’s face.

“So when this job was offered to me I jumped at it. After the death of my father I was all alone and I had to find something to do.”

English and attractive, a swan to send any hunter’s hand to his bow, thought Dr. Kang... but with as much understanding of the ways of the world as a young goose.

“It is wise to consider before one jumps,” said Dr. Kang, and he frowned a little so that for a moment his face was Buddha-like and severe. “I know this Monsieur Charap who has brought you here. He is, indeed, an agent of the Emir of Debussa. It is true that the Emir has a palace fifty miles from here and that he has daughters.”

“Then you agree, it’s a wonderful job? I’ve always had an itch to travel, to see the world.”

Dr. Kang sighed gently. At the moment he had no love for the Emir of Debussa, through whom he had recently lost money on an illicit arms deal. It would be some compensation, he decided, to spoil at least one of the Emir’s pleasures.

“He has daughters, yes. But that they need an English governess... Well, quite frankly, young lady, you have much to learn.”

“But I don’t understand—”

“It is not difficult. Four or five times a year Monsieur Charap arrives here at Port Rabat with governesses for the Emir’s daughters. French, Portuguese, Italian... his daughters must have a command, mademoiselle, of more languages than my illustrious self. You understand now?”

The girl was suddenly embarrassed. She stammered, “Well...”

“Quite. The Emir has European tastes. Once a governess arrives at the palace she finds it difficult to confine her duties to teaching a language. Fifty miles inland from Port Rabat it is five hundred years back in civilization. Have you any money?”

“None.” The word was backed by a note of fear.

“Friends, perhaps in Cairo?”

“Yes.”

“Then go back to them. A plane leaves here in an hour for Cairo. Take it.”

Dr. Kang pulled out his wallet and handed the money in it to the girl. Maybe, he was thinking, it is the first sign of age that he should be so generous with the last of his money. Or maybe it was just that he wanted to annoy the Emir.

Later that afternoon, as Dr. Kang came out of his hotel bedroom, a door two rooms away from his own opened and a short, sallow-faced man came toward him. He wore a panama and carried a heavy stick. He stopped alongside Dr. Kang and his face was working with anger.

“So...” he spluttered. “Dr. Kang has become a good angel.”

“Dr. Kang has no hope of ever achieving such an elevated condition, Monsieur Charap. Why are you so angry?”

“Why?” Monsieur Charap’s eyes narrowed. “The girl is gone. And it was you who explained things to her. She left me a note saying why she has gone, and mentioning your name.”

For a moment Dr. Kang was silent. The girl indeed was a fool to have mentioned his name.

“I merely explained that the climate would be bad for her. She must have misconstrued my words. But why should you worry? Governesses are easy to find even for the Emir.”

“Not English ones. And the Emir has already paid me.”

“Then pay him back, monsieur.” But although he said it calmly, Dr. Kang was not fool enough to think that Charap would part with any money he already had, or let this interference with his arrangements go unrevenged. He had a feeling that it would be wise for him to leave Port Rabat. One did not steal titbits from a lion and wait around to see how the beast would take it. But unfortunately Dr. Kang no longer had any money.

“Somebody shall pay,” snapped Monsieur Charap.

An hour later the matter of repayment was being arranged. Monsieur Charap, worried over the loss of his charge and the anger of the Emir, was with an Arab in a small room over a shop in the native quarter of Port Rabat. He and the Arab had often worked together.

“It will indeed be hard to explain to the Emir,” said the Arab, flicking the sleeves of his robe back and reaching delicately for his cup of mint tea. “He was looking forward to the arrival of the English person. Also, I remember, that some weeks ago it was this same Dr. Kang who was involved in the matter of an arms deal. He had done this to spite the Emir.”

“Nothing short of the death of Dr. Kang will satisfy the Emir for the loss of this English person,” said Monsieur Charap. “The Emir has carried her photograph around with him for weeks.”

“You wish me to soften his disappointment?”

“I do,” said Monsieur Charap savagely.

“It is easily managed. Tell me, what is the number of Dr. Kang’s room at the hotel?”

“It is on the same floor as mine. Number ten.”

“Then tonight I shall pay him a visit. It will be easy to bribe the hotel clerk for a passkey. Leave it all to me. It shall be taken care of, and when he is dead it is possible that the Emir — since he has no love for Dr. Kang — will not ask for his money back.”

That night Dr. Kang — who had often been short of money before — was regretting his generous impulse. Port Rabat, he knew, had become unhealthy for him. The girl had been very stupid to have said that he had warned her. But then if she hadn’t been stupid she would never have needed help. He sat in the lounge after dinner and kept an eye on Monsieur Charap. But the other man took no notice of him, and eventually went up to his room.

It was midnight before Dr. Kang went up to bed. Before he retired he locked his door and saw that the window was bolted. He lay in the darkness knowing that there could be little sleep for him.

It was three o’clock in the morning when the night clerk at the hotel desk, a Sudanese who knew better than to get in the way of the Emir’s people, heard someone come across the deserted lobby. He opened one eye and watched a robed Arab approach the desk. Without a word the clerk pushed a passkey over the desk.

“It is understood,” said the Arab, “that you are blind and deaf?”

“And I still sleep,” said the clerk.

The robed figure glided away towards the stairs. The clerk sat there, glad that he would go off duty before the murder of Dr. Kang was discovered. He sat there listening and there was no sound except the tinkling of the fountain in the garden.

Five minutes later the Arab came quietly down the stairs and dropped the passkey on the desk. Just for a moment the clerk glimpsed a smear of blood on the man’s hand and then the Arab was gone. He picked up the key, wiped off any fingerprints with his handkerchief, and then replaced it.

A few minutes later he was sleeping. He slept on until the clock struck six and the first shafts of morning sun through the lounge windows woke him. Then he sat up, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.

At that moment there was a sound from the stairs. He looked up. Dr. Kang was coming down, carrying his suitcase. The clerk’s mouth gaped with surprise as Dr. Kang came to the desk, beaming.

“There is a Cairo plane at six thirty? Am I right?” he asked gently.

The clerk nodded.

Dr. Kang pulled out a wallet, a very fat wallet, from his pocket and put some money on the desk.

“This will take care of the bill. The change you can keep.”

As he turned away, he paused and put his hand in his pocket.

“I was forgetting. Before you came on duty I borrowed this from the day clerk.”

He dropped a screwdriver onto the desk. He went out chuckling and he continued to chuckle to himself long after he was safely on the plane.

Back in the hotel the body of Monsieur Charap — in Room 12 — would soon be discovered in bed with a dagger through the heart. Room 10 which should have held the dead body of Dr. Kang would be neat and empty. When the Arab had come to do his work the numbers of the three rooms along the passage had read, 12, 11, and 10. And half an hour after the Arab had left Dr. Kang had made them read correctly again — 10, 11, and 12. A man did not have to change his room to avoid death. It was easier to take the brass figure 0 from his own 10 and switch it with the brass 2 from Monsieur Charap’s 12. And just as easy to walk along a verandah afterward and go in through a window to relieve the dead Monsieur Charap of the Emir’s money... Without money how could a man ever afford to be generous?