Biggles reflectively sipped an ice-cold cordial outside a restaurant in the Avenue el Fontana in Alexandria.
“There is one thing I should like to do before we leave Alex.,” he told Algy confidentially, “and that is, find out what sort of a price we are likely to get for our pearls. I seem to remember that Egypt is supposed to be a good market for them. We might do better in Paris, but we should probably get stung badly by the Customs people there, or before we get there. The Italians at Benghazi might even have something to say about them. We should stand a better chance here of disposing of them quietly; anyway, they are a bit of an anxiety and the sooner we turn them into hard cash the better.”
“I agree,” returned Algy promptly. “There’s a jeweller’s across the way—why not stroll over?
