The Sudanese hail porter’s grin became wider still. “Everyone knows about Blister Beetles, sahib,” he said. “What you want?”
“I want you to tell me where I can go out and catch one thousand of them.”
He stopped grinning and stared at me as though I’d gone balmy. “You mean live beetles?” he exclaimed. “You want to go out and catch yourself one thousand live Blister Beetles?”
“I do, yes.”
“What you want live beetles for, sahib? They no good to you at all, those old live beetles.”
Oh my God, I thought. The Major has been pulling our legs.
The hail porter moved closer to me and placed an almost jet-black hand on my arm. “You want jig-a-jig, right? You want stuff to make you go jig-a-jig?”
“That’s about it,” I said. “More or less.”
“Then you don’t want to bother with them live beetles, sahib. All you want is powdered beetles.”
“I had an idea I might take the beetles home and breed them,” I said. “That way I’d have a permanent supply.”
“In England?” he said.
“England or France. Somewhere like that.”
“No good,” he said, shaking his head. “This little Blister Beetle he live only here in the Sudan. He needs very hot sun. Beetles will all die in your country. Why you not take the powder?”
I could see I was going to have to make a slight ad justment in my plans. “How much does the powder cost?” I asked him.
“How much you want?”
“A lot.”
“You have to be very, very careful with that powder, sahib. All you take is the littlest pinch; otherwise you get into very serious trouble.”
“I know that.”
“Over here, we Sudanese men measure up one dose by pouring the powder over the head of a pin and what stays on the pinhead is one dose exactly. And that is not very much. So you better be careful, young sahib.”
“I know all about that,” I said. “Just tell me how I go about getting hold of a large quantity.”
“What you mean by large quantity?”
“Well, say ten pounds in weight.”
“Ten pounds!” he cried. “That would take care of all the people in the whole of Africa put together!”
“Five pounds then.”
“What in the world you going to do with five pounds of Blister Beetle powder, sahib? Just a few ounces is a lifetime supply even for a big strong man like me.”
“Never mind what I’m going to do with it,” I said. “How much would it cost?”
He laid his head on one side and considered this question carefully. “We buy it in tiny packets,” he said. “Quarter ounce each. Very expensive stuff.”
“I want five pounds,” I said. “In bulk.”
“Are you staying here in the hotel?” he asked me.
“Yes.”
“Then I see you tomorrow with the answer. I must go around asking some questions.”
I left it at that for the time being.
The next morning the tall black hall porter was in his usual place by the hotel entrance. “What news of the powder?” I asked him.
“I fix,” he said. “I find a place where I can get you five pounds in weight of pure powder.”
“How much will it cost?” I asked him.
“You have English money?”
“I can get it.”
“It will cost you one thousand English pounds, sahib. Very cheap.”
“Then forget it,” I said, turning away.
“Five hundred,” he said.
“Fifty,” I said. “I’ll give you fifty pounds.”
“One hundred.”
“No. Fifty. That’s all I can afford.”
He shrugged and spread his palms upward. “You find the money,” he said. “I find the powder. Six o’clock tonight.”
“How will I know you won’t be giving me sawdust or something?”
“Sahib!” he cried. “I never cheat anyone.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“In that case,” he said, “we will test the powder on you by giving you a little dose before you pay me. How’s that?”
“Good idea,” I said. “See you at six.”
One of the London banks had an overseas branch in Khartoum. I went there and changed some of my French francs for pounds. At six p.m., I sought out the hall porter. He was now in the foyer of the hotel.