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The Berlitz School translated Mohamed's birth certificate, which gave me his birthplace as El Shourbagy Lane, El Gomrok.  This is an extremely narrow, dark, unpaved lane.  El Gomrok people remind you of London's East Enders -- very friendly, hard-working and helpful people, who, however, tend to stick together when an outsider makes enquiries about one of its own.  'Why are the Fayeds not proud of having lived in the Gomrok and made their way to England?' asked a young student who lives in the Gomrok. 
    A very old man, Mohamed Fawzy Helmy, of 26th July Street, remembered: 'There was a Fayed family living here about 45 years ago.  In fact, the wife's family still live here nearby.'  He took me to a house in Mohamed Kareim Street, next to the Murzi Aburables Mosque.  On the third floor lives engineer Saber Kotb, which is the Fayeds' mother's name.  He spoke some English and became very aggressive.  'Have you got permission from Salah Fayed?  You are a spy.'  I decided it was better to leave.

    When Aly's first wife, Hanem Kotb, mother of the five Fayed children, died in 1939, the family moved from Shorbagui to nearby Sidi Mohamed Wakia Street.  Ahmed Ahmed had lived at No. 5 for 20 years.  He told me: 'When I moved into the flat in December 1939, the Fayed family lived above us on the second floor.  He was a teacher, a very nice man living with his second wife, his three sons and two daughters.  They were very reserved and we did not have much contact.  They moved many years ago.  The rent in 1939 was three Egyptian pounds per month.  It is now eight Egyptian pounds.'
    A man connected with the Education Ministry told my contact that father Ali Fayed, according to records, came from a village, Al-Rahmania, as did his first wife.  I drove to Al-Rahmania.  At the town of Demanhour, I left the road to Cairo and drove over pot-holed roads to the village in the Shobrakhit district. 

Water buffaloes were cooling down in the river, which I crossed to the village, 60 miles south of Alexandria.  Around 2,000 people live in small houses and even goats and sheep showed 'lofty disdain.'  Would anyone still remember Aly Aly Fayed, who was born in this village in 1889, became a teacher in 1917, and married a local girl, Hanem Kotb, who died in 1939? 
    The villagers were friendly until asked questions about the Fayeds.  'They are not here now, but have a big house in Alexandria.  You have to speak to Salah, who visited us.'
    Suddenly I noticed a Kodak shop between the run-down buildings.  I talked to the owner, Emad Stidoll, who told me in English that the Fayeds had lived in the same road, but had moved to Alexandria many years ago.  Part of the family still lived in the village.  I also learned that father Ali's second wife, 21 years younger, came from a nearby village and died six years ago. 
     I turned to face the bone-crushing road out of Al-Rahmania.  My search for the Pharaohs was at an end.

Footnote: At Lorana Sullivan's memorial service, held in the journalists' church of St Bride's, Fleet Street, London, on 27 October 1999, Peter Wickman read the Fourth Reading, consisting of the passage from this article in which he describes his interview with Fargally Pasha - the 'king of cotton'.  Its hilarious conclusion caused great merriment among the congregation.  Here is the extract, typeset as it was in the Order of Service:

Peter Wickman

FOURTH READING
Extract from 'In search of the fabulous Pharaohs'
The Observer 15 June 1986

Meeting the 'king' was easier said than done.  I heard that the fabulous Pasha, almost 90 years old, still held court in Alexandria's Sporting Club, still sporting a red pasha hat with a red carnation and kissing ladies' hands.  The paint on the walls of the Sporting Club is faded and peeling; the carpets worn.  Only a select few could become members when the British ran the club with its horse racing track, its 18-hole golf course, and its green lawns for croquet and bowls. 

After Nasser nationalised the club, any mortal could enter for the sum of £2.50.  The old retainers hadn't heard of the magical Fayeds, but they all knew of the flamboyant Fargally Pasha.  His huge villa on Horreya 654 was deserted, but I finally tracked him down to a small first-floor apartment in Abdessalamares Street, where he is looked after by his delightful daughter. 

His memory is still clear and his mind sharp.  He was the friend and confidant of kings and presidents; even Nasser deferred to his charm, while stripping him of his fortune. 

The last surviving cotton millionaire proudly declared that it was The Times which named him 'king of cotton.'  Did Fargally Pasha know of the Al-Fayeds' rival empire? 

Sitting in his armchair, wrapped in blankets, with his daughter hovering over him, Fargally Pasha studied the report in the Sunday Times, which highlighted how grandfather Al-Fayed had 'planted cotton,' and exported it to Lancashire, where it was manufactured into cloth and sold in Harrods.'

'Ah, the Al Fayeds,' said the Pasha.  He sighed.  Old memories clouded his eyes.  But not the right memories. 

'I've never heard of them,' he said.

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