[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]http://www.jerryjazzmusician.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/bix1.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color]Grand Continetal Hotel [/center][hr]

It would seem that Haakon's try at reverse-psychology had been fruitless; Abbas' only information was that he indeed had information, though said information was or was about - except that they would all pay if they handed him over to the authorities - he plainly refused to elaborate about. Haakon sighed quietly to himself as he and Sgt. Walsh escorted the ruffian of an Arab outside the hotel...

...Straight into the arms of the two Keystones. [i]Fantastic, just the men I wanted to be stared angerly by.[/i] Haakon's quiet sigh had quickly shifted into an expression of annoyance. It didn't fit in the plan he had for a hopefully cordial reintroduction with the British gentlemen. The sobering, city air of Cairo tugged him back to his senses again though, and his face was once again one of formal etiquette like a journalist wanted around these people. His gun was still aimed firmly at Abbas as they approached the Lord Mayor. 

And of course he was determined to ignore - or at best refuse to adress him directly - Haakon. He wasn't surprised, more annoyed, perhaps a bit insulted, taking into account his liking of the British people and lifestyle. Then again, his career was perhaps not the one to go for then. Giving both Lord Mayor Keystone a polite nod, he persisted in keeping his mouth shut, his gun pointed at the murderer Abbas, and his eyes casually shifting from Abbas, Reginald Keystone, Sgt. Walsh and whomever might be standing around them. If there was one thing he had learned that night, it was that to always expect something more ridiculous to arrive just around the corner.