“You buy antīcas?” he said in a whisper, casting a sidelong glance of apprehension at a mounted policeman who was following at about seventy yards distance.
I told him to show me what he had, whereupon he produced a blue bowl of earthenware with a pattern of the lotus flower on it. Porcelain, he called it, “and very fine work, sir. I dig in the tombs, sir.”
Now if there was one thing that this youthful Ananias did not do, it was to dig in the tombs. It is one of the worst offences in Egypt to dig and take away antiquities without permission. This constitutes a crime not to be expiated without years of imprisonment in the Tourah stone quarries.
The price of the blue bowl was £3. This at once betrayed it, for no one knows better than these sellers of antiquities the value of the genuine article. £20 or more would not have bought it, had he really dug it up out of a tomb. When I declined to buy the bowl, he produced various fragments of alabaster vessels which were genuine enough, and then some odd Ushebti figures, genuine but very poor in make and colour, and not worth the trouble of taking home. When these were declined, he still ran alongside of my donkey for perhaps half a mile, from time to time casting hunted looks at the mounted policeman not very far away. Presently he cast an agonised look at me and made a sound indicative of silence; then he produced a statue bound up in old rags, thrust it on my saddle in front of me, and with exceedingly well-acted fright, implored me not to let the policeman see it. Our conversation was carried on in Arabic, so that he knew well that I lived in the country, and yet he looked me straight in the face, and with his hand on his heart, lied.
I unrolled the rags, and there was a wonderful statue of Horus, about six inches high, beautifully moulded, in what was apparently lapis lazuli, with most natural cracks and fissures running through the substance. It was the first time I had met with this particular imitation, and for a moment I was dumfounded. I thrust the statue under my coat, and turned to look at our friend, the policeman. He was still at the same distance away, watching us, but the smile had broadened on his face, and this gave the whole thing away. He had evidently witnessed the same play a dozen times before, and perhaps a dozen people had thrust that statue under their coats, and turned to look at him; so that he knew at once the stage which the negotiations had reached. Sometimes the young man would bring off the coup, when, no doubt, they would celebrate the occasion in a manner which would recompense the policeman for his non-interference.
“How much?” I asked.
“Thirty pounds,” was his reply.
“But it is very dear,” I objected, “and it does not seem to be a genuine antiquity.”
“By the Prophet,” swore the boy, “I dug it up myself in the tombs. Please, gentleman, do not let the policeman see.”
His intense anxiety was well acted. I looked at the statue again. It was the work of an artist, made in glass, with all the characteristics of the precious stone, and then sand-blasted to give it the appearance of age. Its value, had it been genuine, would have been many hundreds of pounds. Its actual value was a few shillings. Then we proceeded to bargain. I could have bought the figure for £3, but lower than that he would not come down; so I wrapped the statue up, and gave it back to him. Again he tried to sell me the blue bowl, offering this time to take ten shillings for it. When I said that I had no change, he produced a bag with a considerable quantity of gold and silver in it, and extracted an English half-sovereign. His perseverance was so marked that in the end I bought a few imitations, so that he might not have had his long run for nothing.