When he had done registering, a boy came and took his bags and the key to his room.
“Much obliged to you, Mr. Hudson.”
“Not at all.”
“Like to see something of you, if you don’t mind. Wonder if you could give me an idea of the lay of the land.”
I said I should be delighted and we made a date to meet for tea in the cool of the late afternoon, on the terrace.
When he had gone, I asked the manager about him but he, old friend that he was (he has been manager for twelve years and looks up to me as an elder statesman, in the hotel at least, since I have lived there longer), merely shrugged and said, “It’s too much for me, sir.” And I could get no more out of him.
2
The terrace was nearly cool when we met at six o’clock, at the hour when the Egyptian sun has just lost its unbearable gold, falling, a scarlet disc, into the white stone hills across the dull river which, at this season, winds narrowly among the mud-flats, a third of its usual size, diminished by heat.
“Don’t suppose we could order a drink ... not that I’m much of a drinking man, you know. Get quite a thirst, though, on a day like this.”
I told him that since foreigners had ceased to come here, the bar had been closed down: Moslems for religious reasons did not use alcohol.