Not Just a Witch

Chapter Sixteen

The name of this man was Abdul el Hammed and he was an exceedingly rich sheikh who lived between the Zagros Mountains and the Caspian Sea. The sheikh was rich because his country was full of oil wells, but he was also very old-fashioned — so old-fashioned that he had one hundred and fifty wives, just as Eastern rulers used to do in the olden days. The wives lived in a palace all of their own and the sheikh liked to show them off, all dressed alike in beautiful clothes and fabulous jewellery, so that everyone would be amazed that anyone could have so many women and be so generous.

In the summer, the country in which the sheikh lived was very hot, but in the winter, because there were high mountains near by, it was very cold — and it was then that he liked to dress his one hundred and fifty wives in valuable fur coats. But it is not easy to find a hundred and fifty coats made of priceless skins and all alike. The sheikh had been looking round and had sent messengers to all the furriers in Europe and he had not found what he was looking for.

This sheikh wanted to see every one of his wives dressed in a coat made of snow leopards.

Tigers are beautiful and exciting, so are jaguars and ocelots, and people who like fur coats swear by sable or mink. But in all the world, there is nothing like a coat made of snow leopards.

Snow leopards live in the highest mountains in the world — on the slopes of the Himalayas and the Karakoram, where there are no people, only ice and eagles and the sighing of the wind. They are so graceful and so fearless — and above all so rare — that to look at one is to feel a lump come into your throat. There are so few left now that to shoot or trap one is to risk being sent to prison and only a person with no soul would dream of trying it. To kill one snow leopard and make his skin into a fur coat would be almost impossible. To find three hundred (because at least two leopards are needed for a single coat)… well, no one but a mad, rich sheikh would even dream of it.

But the sheikh Abdul el Hammed did dream of it. The more he couldn’t have what he wanted, the more he was determined to have it. He had offered a thousand pounds for a snow leopard skin and then fifteen hundred, and at last two thousand and more just for one skin. But there simply weren’t any snow leopards to be had. Not even the greediest people were willing to break the law which protected these marvellous and unusual beasts.

And then came the day when Mr Flitchbody, a skin trader who operated in London, but had a network of trappers and hunters all over the world, got a telephone call.

‘Hello. Is that you, Flitchbody?’ a throaty voice said.

‘Yes, Flitchbody speaking. Who is that?’

‘It’s Knacksap here. Lionel Knacksap from Wellbridge. Tell me, is that sheikh of yours still after snow leopard pelts?’

‘You bet he is. Three hundred, he wants, and he’ll sell his soul to get them — and I can’t find one.’

‘Well, I can,’ said Mr Knacksap. ‘I can get him the full quantity. If the price is right.’

‘The price is two thousand eight hundred per skin and I take ten per cent. But I don’t believe you for a moment.’

‘Well, you’d better believe me. I’ve found someone who’s been breeding them in secret. I can send you the bodies, but you’ll have to get them skinned down in London and no questions asked. Can you fix that?’

‘I can fix it. But I still think you’re bluffing.’

‘Well, I’m not. I’ll want the money in cash. Three-quarters of a million in notes, can you do that?’

‘If you can get me three hundred snow leopards, there’s nothing I can’t do.’

‘I’ll keep you posted,’ said Mr Knacksap, and put down the phone.