"Anubis, Horus, Amon-Ré,Are you near or far away?If you're tuned in close at hand,Clean up the H-emission band."
"Anubis, Horus, Amon-Ré,Are you near or far away?If you're tuned in close at hand,Clean up the H-emission band."
The piece of hard Egyptian bread thrown by Scotty caught him just behind the ear. Rick picked it up and threw it back, grinning.
"The things I have to put up with," Scotty exclaimed hopelessly. "I'm sorry I brought the whole thing up."
"It didn't help," Rick admitted. "But it gave me an idea. How about going to the Egyptian Museum this morning?"
"With Hassan?"
"It's right across the park. Hassan can take the morning off and come back after lunch to drive us to the project."
"I'm your boy," Scotty agreed. "If you keep your chants to yourself, that is. Try one on those old statues at the museum and they'd fall on you."
"Oh, I don't know," Rick said loftily. "Maybe those old Egyptians had a better ear for poetry than you have."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Scotty returned. "If it sounds so terrible to me, think what it would sound like to a poetry lover. Go on and make your phone call."
Rick did. He asked the desk to relay a message to Hassan, then asked about the weather. The clerk spent a minute apologizing profusely. It was chilly, he admitted reluctantly. Very unusual for Egypt. Hadn't happened since 1898. Most regrettable. And so on.
"He sounded like a Sunshine Tourist Service trouble shooter explaining that the downpour was only a heavy mist," Rick said as he hung up. "The weather is unusual, remarkable, etc. It's chilly."
Scotty finished his coffee. "Okay. Let's go. Got the kitty?"
Rick took the Egyptian cat from its nest under his mattress and put it into the inner pocket of his coat. "Couldn't leave our pal, could we? Bad man might get 'im."
"We can't let that happen until we find out why the animal is so appealing," Scotty agreed.
"Spoken like a true Spindrifter. Do we walk, or take the elevator? Walking's faster, but the elevator is more adventurous."
"Walk," Scotty said. "You need the exercise."
Outside, the air was pleasantly crisp, but the sun was shining. Rick wondered if it ever rained in Cairo and made a mental note to look it up. He had brought a guidebook with him, and the map showed them the location of the museum.
They started off at a brisk pace, past the Nile Hilton Hotel, then across the heavy traffic of the bridge circle to the open park before the museum. As Rick turned to look at a statue he caught a glimpse of a figure dodging behind some shrubbery. His pulse speeded.
"Could be that we have a buddy," he announced. "I saw someone dodge behind a bush."
Scotty took a quick look without seeming to. "Someone there all right. A pal of our little cat?"
"It's certainly no chum of ours, if it's anyone who's interested in us. Let's hike and see how it goes."
They strolled idly past the museum, crossed the street, and walked up Kasr El Nil past the Modern Art Museum and the Automobile Club. Scotty took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. They were of the silvered one-way mirror type that cuts down light transmission much as a neutral-density filter does for a camera.
Rick watched as he put them on, took them off again, and polished them with a handkerchief, turning them from side to side as he watched for spots.
"I knew those things looked like headlights," Rick gibed. "I didn't know they could also serve as rearview mirrors."
"I may write an article on this for the Journal of the Optical Society," Scotty said. "Works fine. Our buddy is a Sudanese, from the looks of him. Also, he has a comrade. A big, sloppy type in a black coat and a tarboosh. I'd hate to tangle with either of them."
Rick thought of Scotty's comment that it wouldn't take much of a detective to realize he had the cat on him.
Scotty added, "Some distance behind are two other types, in tarbooshes. They're striding along at the same pace we are, and keeping their distance. I'm flattered. Looks as if 'they' figured it would take four to handle us."
"Maybe they sent one for us and three for the cat," Rick said hopefully. "Cats are good scrappers. Any bright ideas, ol' chum?"
"Yep. Let's go to the museum. They can't touch us in a public place. Got the map?"
They consulted it, letting the trailers see what was going on. The street they were on formed one side of a triangle, with its apex at the square in front of the museum. The next left turn, and another left a block farther on, would bring them to the front of the museum through Gami Sharkas and Shampelion streets.
Rick wondered if the latter was the Arab-English equivalent of the name of the man who had translated the hieroglyphics on the famous Rosetta stone and is considered the father of Egyptology. He knew from his study of cryptography that the first man to read the strange Egyptian written language was Jean François Champollion. Or maybe the map maker had made a mistake by misspelling the name. He looked for a street sign in English when they reached the street, but he saw none.
He had to grin to himself at the strange turns his mind sometimes took. He should be concentrating on a plan of escape, not wondering about a strange spelling of a Frenchman's name. "See anything?" he asked Scotty.
"They're still with us. All four."
"Probably the second pair is in case the first pair loses us," Rick guessed. "Let's keep out of deserted alleys. They must be just waiting for an opportunity to grab us."
"I hear you talking," Scotty agreed. "And I believe every Brantish word of it."
They turned into the museum grounds, waving off guides who came running. Normally, they might have hired a museum guide, but they were suspicious now of all strangers.
Rick produced some piastres and paid their entrance fee. He noticed a sign at the window that said all parcels must be checked. He was glad kitty was hidden in his pocket.
Inside, they paused at the sudden spectacle of great stone figures and huge stone sarcophagi. There was a great hall filled with giant statuary straight ahead, and on each side, wide staircases led to the upper floor.
"Topside," Scotty said. "Then we can look down and see if any familiar faces come through the door."
They walked up the left-hand staircase, past rows of ancient wooden mummy cases, and came to the upper landing. A few minutes were spent inspecting the last resting place of a one-time Egyptian lord, with frequent glances toward the entrance.
"They don't need to follow us in," Rick pointed out finally. "Sooner or later we'll have to go out, and they'll be waiting."
"Sure. But it's wise to be careful. If one had followed us in here, we'd have been forced to keep an eye on him. Me, I want to see this museum."
They wandered through the countless rooms of the upper floor, each filled with antique treasures that were impossible to identify. There were few cards of explanation. One room was crowded with alabaster carvings, any one of which would have rated a whole room to itself in a modern American museum. The great building was literally jammed with rare objects, many of them thousands of years old. Uniformed guards were posted at every corner, obviously to protect the myriad treasures.
"The police are keeping an eye on us," Rick muttered.
"What else are they here for?" Scotty commented. "Don't try to carry off one of those ten-ton statues and they won't bother you."
Rick paused before a collection of brightly painted miniature clay soldiers, created to serve as a phantom army for some forgotten nobleman. "This stuff is priceless. I'll bet they really do need guards."
As the boys walked into a small room containing shelves of assorted clay and stone dishes and utensils, Scotty exclaimed, "Look, on the third shelf!"
Rick searched until he saw what Scotty's quick eyes had spotted. It was partly hidden behind a clay jug. An Egyptian cat!
Closer inspection showed that it was not the mate to the one he carried. The museum cat was darker, obviously older. It was more stylized and slightly larger. There was no identifying card.
The Egyptian cat returned his gaze with dark stone eyes. "Wonder if they'd like to have you, too?" Rick said to himself. Four men wanted the one in his pocket. He wished it was as safe as the antique before him. Suddenly he let out a pleased chuckle. He had the solution.
"Are you lonely, little cat?" he asked. "Would you like company?"
Scotty got it instantly. He patted Rick on the shoulder. "That's the old Brant brain, boy. I'll duck out and distract the guard."
Rick moved on, inspecting jugs until he saw Scotty engage the guard in conversation. His pal gradually turned as he talked, until the guard's back was toward Rick. It was the work of only a moment to slip the cat from his pocket and push it out of sight behind the jug that partially screened the museum cat.
He smiled to himself. From the looks of the museum, it was highly unlikely that the cat ever would be noticed, even if it stood there forever. If one of the Egyptologists ever did happen to see it, there would be a new puzzle to solve. Which dynasty invented plastics?
He walked to where Scotty was busy with the guard. The officer's understanding of English was about zero, and Scotty's knowledge of Arabic was slightly less, so they were getting nowhere.
When he saw Rick, Scotty stopped trying. He grinned and put out his hand. The guard grinned back and clasped Scotty's hand, with obvious relief that the struggle to communicate was over. He waved cordially as the boys went on their way.
"It is a distinct privilege to make such an outstanding contribution to Egyptian culture," Rick said. He was really relieved. Being unfamiliar with Cairo, they were apt to walk into an unexpected situation that might have resulted in loss of the cat. There would be no reason for anyone to suspect the cat's hiding place now, because no one except Scotty knew that he had carried it out of the hotel.
There was much to see, and the boys took their time, spending over an hour in the section devoted to the relics of Tut-Ankh-Amon, the boy Pharaoh who had died at about the age of eighteen. His tomb had been found intact, one of the few that had escaped the desert thieves. Priceless objects had been found, including the King's death mask of painted gold. It was one of the most beautiful objects of art the boys had ever seen.
Rick noted that at least one guard was always within easy reach of them, and that several guards patrolled the area. The area itself could be fenced off by steel grillwork. He agreed thoroughly with the precautions. The sheer weight of gold would be worth a Pharaoh's ransom, even if melted down. In their present form, Tut's treasures were beyond price.
The pangs of hunger finally drove them from the fascinating place, and both agreed to return with someone who could explain what they were seeing. They emerged into the brilliant Egyptian sunlight and stood blinking.
"We'd better head for the hotel on a beeline," Scotty suggested. "No sense in taking a chance on getting roughed up for nothing."
"That's sense, ol' buddy. Let's go."
They walked down the steps and out a path to the street. An old man with a pushcart was on the path, his cart laden with nuts of some kind. Rick stepped behind Scotty to give the vendor room, but the old man turned his cart suddenly and pushed it into them!
The cart upset and nuts cascaded underfoot. The boys struggled for balance. "Watch it!" Scotty yelled.
Four men bore down on them at top speed, screaming imprecations in Arabic. Rick saw the setup instantly. The four would simply be retaliating for the treatment of an old man by two foreigners. He got to his feet just as the four arrived, and saw that Scotty was crouched beside him.
The Sudanese and the big man in the tarboosh dove for the boys like a well-rehearsed wrestling team!
Rick and Scotty left the ground simultaneously in a dive for the legs charging toward them. They connected, and the impact sent the attackers to the ground. Rick recovered from the dive and tensed for a swing, but he never made it. Arms locked around his chest, pinioning his own arms to his side. He struggled violently, but the grip never yielded.
From the corner of his eye he saw Scotty get in one driving punch that sent the Sudanese down to one knee, then Scotty was pinioned from behind, too.
The big man and the Sudanese swung into action fast. Hands slapped Rick's clothes in a fast but thorough search. Next to him Scotty was getting the same treatment.
The big man spoke sharply in Arabic and both boys were suddenly hurled sideways, landing together in a heap. They jumped to their feet and saw only four retreating backs. Even the peddler had scuttled away, leaving the spilled nuts on the ground. It was senseless to pursue the men. The boys looked at each other grimly, then suddenly Scotty smiled.
"I don't know who they are," he stated, "but I'll tell you this. They're real professionals. I haven't been taken like that in a long, long time."
Rick had to agree. The two-team operation had been swift and efficient. Neither boy had been hurt, or even roughed up particularly. That wasn't the purpose. "So they won't get us in a public place, huh? Well, if they'd wanted to do damage, they could have." He added, "And we couldn't have done a thing. But all they wanted was the cat."
Scotty nodded agreement. He brushed dust off his trousers. "Might as well go back to the hotel. I'm hungry. Anyway, they know now that you don't have the cat on you—and that I don't, either. So what will they think?"
"Either that it's at the hotel or the project, or that we've put it somewhere for safekeeping. They searched the hotel room. Suppose they'll try the project?"
"It's possible, I suppose. Anyway, if they want us they can get us. Notice that no one saw the ruckus? The timing was perfect. A few feet sooner and we'd have been within sight of the museum's ticket office. A few feet later and we'd have been on the street. As it was, shrubs shielded them. Pretty good operating, I'd say."
Rick thought so, too, and it worried him. "I have an unhappy idea buzzing around. If I were the big boss, and really determined to get the cat, I'd pick us up and make us talk."
"The language is a little mixed, but the thought is clear as air. We'd better keep our guard up at all times."
"Meanwhile, what do we know about anything? Nothing. If only we knew why the cat is valuable!"
"If it wasn't before, it is now," Scotty replied. "It's a genuine museum piece. But if the cat is gone, we have three lovely kittens."
Rick chuckled. "What's the problem everyone has with kittens? It's finding a home for them. I wish we'd had one of the kittens a few minutes ago. There would have been one less homeless orphan."
"The kittens' turns will come. And it's our turn to eat. My stomach is quivering in Morse code. 'Send food. Send food.'"
Rick pointed to the hotel, just ahead. "Okay, chow hound. Lunch ahead. And lay off that hot-pepper stuff or that stomach of yours will be sending distress signals."
"I hear you talking," Scotty said feelingly. One dish, served at dinner the previous night, had required enough water to put out a three-alarm fire before the burning sensation stopped.
Hassan was waiting after lunch. He drove the boys to the project, where they looked into the control room long enough to let the scientists know they had arrived, then went at once to look at the kittens. Three identical statues, almost perfect replicas of the original, were sitting in the sunshine.
"Except for being a little rougher, they're our own dear little mysterious pet," Rick said. "Are they dry yet?"
Hassan passed the question on in Arabic to the workmen who had helped make the kittens. He reported, "They okay. You can take now."
"Ask him if we can give him a present for helping us," Scotty requested.
Hassan did so, then shook his head. He grinned, his teeth white in his pleasant black face. "He say making statues fun, not work. He help you yesterday, so he not have to fix plaster. All even."
The boys laughed at the explanation and shook hands with the workman.
"Now," Scotty asked, "what do we do with the children?"
"One goes in my pocket," Rick replied. "I feel lost without a friendly little feline weighing down one side of my coat. We can leave the others here in a safe place, maybe inside one of the control cabinets."
"Good idea. Going to tell Winston and the others about this morning?"
"Sure. Only I don't think we'll mention where the mama cat is hiding out. No use bogging them down with useless information. We'll tell Winston."
Scotty quirked an eyebrow. "Not suspicious of the others?"
Rick wasn't, and said so flatly. "Only the more people who know something, the more others are apt to find it out."
The scientists, however, were not even remotely interested. Their whole attention was given to the problem of getting the big radio telescope working.
Hakim Farid joined the boys long enough to say, "We've about decided the strange signals are not originating within the system. Now we're looking at the possibility that some local source is giving us interference. We thought we'd eliminated all outside noise, but perhaps something new came up after we finished checking."
Rick pointed to Cairo, visible through the control-room window. "There must be lots of stuff down there that puts out radio-frequency signals, even electric shavers and heating pads. How can you eliminate all of it?"
"We can't, in the sense of really cutting it out. But the antenna construction takes local interference into account. It's a tight beam design that should prevent overriding of the main signal by any random side effects. That's what Kerama and Winston are checking now. There's not a great deal for you to do until they're through. In a half hour we'll start to swing the antenna to see if we get an increase in the signal by a change in direction. Until then, why not take it easy?"
"We will." Rick took the opportunity to tell Farid of the incident at the museum that morning. He described briefly how they had been followed, then attacked on the museum path.
Farid frowned. "I'm sorry to hear it. Cairo is pretty law-abiding, compared to what it used to be. But we still have crime, just as you do in your big cities. You didn't lose your wallets or anything valuable?"
"Nothing. We think they were after the cat."
"They didn't get it?"
"No. I didn't have it on me."
"That was fortunate." Farid frowned. "But why would anyone want the cat?"
Rick did not have an answer for that, and said so. The scientist smiled. "A cat isn't exactly big game for thieves, is it? On the other hand, the museum itself was robbed several weeks ago in spite of the guards. Thieves got away with a necklace supposed to have belonged to Kefren, who built the middle pyramid over there."
"Was it valuable?" Scotty asked.
"More than valuable. It is irreplaceable. In terms of cash, however, the value is around a quarter of a million dollars."
Rick whistled. "No wonder the guards watched us this morning."
Dr. Kerama called, "Hakim, can you help with these tracings, please?"
Farid joined the other scientists, leaving the boys to their own devices. Rick hunted until he found a space under an amplifier that was big enough for the two extra kittens. The space was covered by an access door. The kittens would be safe there. It would be no real loss if they were stolen, anyway.
Later, the boys helped check circuits while the radio telescope swung through a variety of arcs, with Farid at the controls. The strange signal came while the telescope was pointing only in one direction.
Rick asked Winston, "Could it really be coming from a single source in outer space?"
Winston shrugged. "We've thought of that. If the source remained fixed, we'd accept it as the most logical explanation. But since Kerama and Farid first noticed the signal it has shifted its apparent location by many degrees. That's why we think it must have some local explanation."
Rick understood. The sources in space studied by the radio telescopes were fixed, in the same sense that the stars themselves were fixed. Of course everything in the galaxy—even in the universe—was in motion, but in spite of the enormous velocities, the change in location would not be particularly apparent in a short time, or even in a lifetime.
A short distance away was a wonderful example of this kind of motion. In the great pyramid of Khufu, Rick had read, a channel had been left so the light of the North Star could shine on the altar of Isis. The channel was still there. But in over three thousand years the slight, slow wobbling of the earth on its axis had caused a shift. What was then the North Star was now Thuban, in the constellation of Draco the Dragon. The present North Star, Polaris, which is not exactly at the celestial north pole, did not shine on the altar. Nor would the next star to become the northern marker—bright Vega. But if the pyramids were still standing after twenty-seven thousand years had passed, the cycle of movement would be complete, and Thuban would again shine through the channel to the altar of a forgotten Egyptian goddess.
It gave Rick a shiver to think about it. Even now, the pyramids were old enough to have seen a change of north stars. They looked good for another three thousand years or more. It would take a lot of time to erode away that much massive stone.
Then he stopped thinking about it, because the telescope was in motion again, and there was work to be done.
It was late night before the scientists were satisfied. The boys rode back with Hassan, very thoughtful about the day's events. Now they had both the little statue and the even greater mystery of the space signals to think about.
Clearly, the strange signal was not of local origin. The scientists rejected the idea that it came from trouble in the circuit. But it was no natural heavenly object. What was it?
Tomorrow, Winston had said, they would decide on the next step. Right now all hands were too tired to think clearly. The boys agreed that the statement applied to them.
"Shall we eat?" Rick asked as they approached the hotel.
"Let's have a sandwich sent up," Scotty suggested. "I don't feel like waiting in a dining room, even if one is open this late."
"Good idea." Rick leaned forward and told Hassan, "Just drop us off, then go on home and get some rest."
"Not tired," Hassan said cheerfully. "You work, I rest."
They certainly were not working Hassan very hard, Rick agreed. But he was pleasant to have around. They bade him good night in front of the hotel and went for their room key. The clerk handed Rick an envelope along with it. It was addressed to Mr. R. Brant, care of the hotel, and the return address was in Arabic.
Rick waited until they were in their room to open it. A quick glance showed that the room had not been searched, or if it had, with greater care than the last time. He ripped open the envelope and took out a sheet of paper, the letterhead printed in Arabic except for the name Fuad Moustafa.
"Fuad Moustafa," he said aloud. "Any relation to Ali, I wonder?"
"Read it," Scotty urged.
Rick did so. "'Dear Sir: You have brought to Cairo, I believe, a plastic replica of a cat, which was given to you by Mr. Bartouki for delivery to my brother, Ali. I deeply regret the inconvenience caused by your failure to find my brother in his shop. Only today did I learn that his chief clerk, an officious person, had attempted to take delivery of the cat by pretending to be my brother. The clerk shall be discharged for this offensive behavior.
"'Since my brother is absent from the city, on business to Beirut, which was the reason for his absence from the shop, I shall be delighted to serve in his stead. If you will call me, I shall come at your convenience. Or, if you will do me the honor of breaking bread at my home, I shall be at your service. Since my home is also my office, any time that is convenient for you will be my pleasure. Sincerely, Fuad Moustafa.'"
Rick jumped for the phone and called the desk, "See if Hassan is still around, please. Tell him to wait, if he is."
The clerk asked him to wait and Rick put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Scotty. "The first sensible suggestion we've had. Let's go call on Fuad Moustafa. If there are lights, we'll pay him a visit. If not, we'll come back. I'm anxious to get this settled."
"So am I," Scotty agreed, then added, "Only let's be sure this isn't a trap."
The clerk came back on the line. "Hassan is here. He will wait."
"Thank you. Now, can you tell me anything about a Mr. Fuad Moustafa? Do you know him?"
"Indeed, sir. He is a lawyer, from a well-known family. He has two brothers who are also well known. One is Ali, who has a shop in El Mouski, and the other is Kemel, who is a textile importer."
Rick thanked him and hung up. "It's our boy," he said. He repeated what the clerk had told him.
"Sounds like pay dirt," Scotty agreed. "Only we'll still be careful. Let's go."
Rick echoed him. "Let's go! If this is on the level, we can get the cat in the morning and deliver it." At last, the secret of the Egyptian cat might be unraveled!
As the boys hurried through the lobby the night clerk came to meet them.
"I noticed that the name of Mr. Moustafa was on the message I gave you. If you intend to visit him, you will have no trouble. His house is also his office, and it is very well known. Just tell Hassan to take you to Abd El Aziz Street."
The boys thanked him, somewhat relieved that Fuad Moustafa apparently was so well known. Outside, Hassan was waiting. "Not so tired?" he greeted them.
"Not too tired for a short trip," Rick said. "Can you take us to Abd El Aziz Street?"
"Not far. Near El Mouski."
As Hassan drove off, at the usual high velocity, Rick asked, "Do you know Fuad Moustafa?"
"Hear name," Hassan said. "But not know. What number street he live?"
Rick took the letter from his pocket, switched on the dome light, and scanned it. There was no address given in English. He started to hand the letter to Hassan, then remembered the dragoman could not read. He puzzled over the Arabic in the letterhead, realizing the address must be given there. If he could identify the numbers ... there, he recognized one. Both boys had spent some time studying the telephone dial at the project, on which the numbers were in Arabic. It was easy to identify them, and Rick had spotted the five, a figure like a tiny heart, upside down.
"I think I have it," he said. "Let's see. Arabic reads from right to left, instead of the way we write. That makes this number ... hmmmm ... a heart, a dot, and two sevens backward with one squiggle in the upper line. The heart is a five, the dot a zero, and backward sevens with one squiggle are twos. So the number is 5022. Right?"
"That's the way I remember it," Scotty said. "So that's the number.Enshallah."
Hassan started laughing in the front seat. "Now you speak Arabic? You must saya'eraf shwayet 'arabi."
"What does that mean?" Scotty demanded.
"It mean 'I know some Arabic'"
The boys laughed with him. In a few moments Hassan swung the little car to the curb and pointed to the nearest building. "There 5022."
Rick started to get out, then he asked curiously, "How do you know, Hassan? I thought you couldn't read."
"No can read words. Read numbers plenty good. Could not take people to places if could not read numbers."
That made sense, Rick thought.
Scotty let out a sudden exclamation. "Hey, this is a barbershop, and it's closed for the night."
Rick looked, then switched on the dome light. He compared the letterhead number and the number on the door. Clearly, it was 5022, unless they had mistaken threes for twos. The only difference between the two numbers was an extra squiggle in the upper line of the three. He checked the letter again. No, they were twos. He said so. "This is the number on the letter."
"You let me see, please?" Hassan asked.
"Sure, Hassan."
The dragoman took the letter and examined it. He chuckled. "Samehni, ya sidi.That mean excuse, sir. Small mistake. You reading backward. Number is 2205."
"But how can that be?" Rick asked. "Arabic goes backward from English."
"Maybe so with words," Hassan said. "But numbers not so. This number is 2205. You want to go?"
Rick sighed. "I learn something new every day. Okay, Hassan. You're the dragoman."
The little car swung around and sped back the way they had come, into a better part of the city. In a short time Hassan slowed and began searching. At last he pulled to the curb, in front of a large house of Victorian design. "Here is 2205," he announced.
The boys got out and saw immediately that the house was in darkness. Not a light shone anywhere.
"No one home," Rick said, disappointed.
Scotty surveyed the dark structure. "Funny. A house this size must have servants. There should be a light somewhere. Maybe around back?"
"I doubt it, but we can take a look."
Hassan's voice stopped them. "Something wrong, I think."
"What do you mean?" Rick asked quickly.
Hassan gestured to where a small group of people had gathered on the other side of the street. "Why they stop? Not so strange for car come to house like this."
That was true, Rick thought. The people stood quietly, watching, and in a moment two others joined them. Their attitude was not simple curiosity.
"Can you ask them what's up?" Scotty asked.
"Will try." Hassan took a step toward the group and called cheerfully in Arabic. No one answered. He walked toward them, still talking cheerfully, and the little group melted instantly into ordinary people walking the street on their various errands by ones and twos.
Rick needed no interpreter for their actions. Rather than answer a courteous, cheerful question from Hassan they had hurried off, as though afraid of something. But what?
"Pretty strange, I think," Hassan said. "I just ask who can tell me where to find Fuad Moustafa, and they go."
Scotty had been staring at the house. He walked to the steps and stared into the darkness, then went up them onto the porch. In a moment he came down again.
"Something's very wrong," he said. "I thought I saw the gleam of metal, and I did. A brand-new padlock on the door! New hasp, too, put on in a way no house owner would ever do it. It's as though someone was closing a barn door and didn't care how it looked."
A chill went down Rick's spine. Instead of a solution, they had found a deeper mystery. He was sure of only one thing for the present. They should not wait at the house of Fuad Moustafa.
"Come on," he said. "Back to the hotel. If we can't have facts to feed on, we can at least have that sandwich."
But the sandwich was not to be had so easily. Back in their room, a call to the waiter brought the porter, who announced that all hotel facilities were closed and the waiters had gone home. He would be glad to go to a restaurant he knew of and get them sandwiches, but it would take a little time.
The boys ordered, then got undressed. Scotty went in to wash up while Rick wrote cards to the folks at home. A knock interrupted him. "Must be the porter," he called to Scotty, and went to open the door.
A stranger stood there, a big man in an immaculate gray linen suit. He wore thick eyeglasses with stainless-steel rims. On his curly hair was a tarboosh of red velvet. In his hand was a gleaming, snub-nosed hammerless revolver, pointed at Rick's midriff.
"I know it's late," the man said pleasantly, "but may I come in?"
He walked through the door, and Rick backed away to make room.
"Are you Fuad Moustafa?" he asked shakily.
The man smiled. "I have not that honor. You have never seen a Moustafa, or you would not ask. They are famous for the biggest noses and mustaches in the Republic. I could have lied, but it is my pride that I never lie. My identity is not important."
"What do you want?" Rick asked. He kept backing away, because he wanted desperately for the man to follow. That would give Scotty a chance to move in from behind.
"I think you know what I want. A small and unimportant piece of plastic, in the shape of a cat."
"Why is the cat so important?" Rick asked.
"It is not important. You may believe this. However, for reasons I shall not disclose, it has certain elements of value to a few people."
"Sentimental value?" Rick asked. He was stalling.
"It depends on what one is sentimental about. I have no sentimental attachment to this object. I merely want it. Now, my time is short. I was fortunate to find the porter gone, but he will doubtless return. The cat, my young friend, and quickly!"
Scotty moved from the bathroom on silent, bare feet, and even as his pal moved, Rick saw the object in his hand. It was a nail file.
Scotty stepped close and his hand moved. The stranger stiffened.
"That's a knife in your back," Scotty said. "Drop the gun."
The revolver muzzle never faltered. "An interesting stalemate," the man said calmly. "You can thrust, but no matter how fast you are, I can shoot. So, if I die, so does your friend. Now, since you created this situation, how are you going to get out of it? Or did I create it, through my careless eagerness? I was so pleased to find the hall empty that I forgot there were two of you."
"No matter," Scotty informed him. "We can stand like this until help comes."
"Then you expect someone. Make no mistake, I will not be taken. If necessary, I will end the stalemate with a shot and take my chances with the knife. It is even possible I will get both of you."
Rick was watching the man's face closely. He was not bluffing. There was no sign of sweat or nervousness. He knew the situation exactly, and was prepared to deal with it. The boy reached a decision.
"Drop it, Scotty," he commanded. "Pull back and come around so he can see you. I'm going to give him the cat."
"Don't!" Scotty exclaimed. "Don't, Rick!"
"I'm going to give him the cat," Rick repeated. "It isn't worth bloodshed. Now co-operate, will you?"
Scotty drew back and walked around so the stranger could see him. With a gesture of disgust he threw the nail file on one of the twin beds.
The stranger smiled his appreciation. "A very good try. It would have worked, no doubt, on a less experienced man. Now, Mr. Brant, where is the cat?"
"In my pocket, in the wardrobe."
The gun muzzle waved Scotty to the window at the far end of the room. "Out of reach, if you please. I will cover Mr. Brant just to be sure it is not a weapon that he has in his pocket."
Scotty obeyed, scowling. Rick led the way to the wardrobe. Moving slowly and carefully, he got the concrete kitten and held it up.
"Excellent. I see the hotel has provided you with a newspaper. Please use it to wrap the cat."
Rick did so, and handed it over.
"Thank you. I appreciate your co-operation, since I am a man who detests unnecessary violence. You have acted wisely." He backed to the door, opened it, and closed it behind him.
Rick's eyes met Scotty's across the room, and both grinned widely, but they said nothing in case the stranger had lingered outside the door. Not until a few moments had passed and Rick had checked the hallway did he speak.
"Well," he said happily, "one orphan kitten has found a happy home!"
Parnell Winston faced the group of Egyptian scientists in the crowded radio-telescope control room. Rick and Scotty waited impatiently for the scientist to begin. They knew something important was coming up, from remarks dropped by Winston earlier, but they didn't know what.
"Gentlemen," Winston began, "I and my young associates came at Dr. Kerama's request because of the assumption that internal or local difficulties had caused the strange peaks in your Sanborn tracings of the first tryouts of the new system. The assumption was a natural and logical one. However, we have demonstrated that it isn't true. The system is working so perfectly that I must congratulate you. It is seldom that anything so complex functions as well in the early stages."
Winston paused thoughtfully. "Of course Dr. Kerama realized that it would be highly unusual to have internal circuit trouble cause such signals. But what we have left, after eliminating the possibilities of both internal and local interference, is something even more unusual. In fact, it is fantastic."
Rick moved forward a little. He didn't want to miss any of this, because he knew Winston, and he had never before seen the scientist so excited.
"What we have is a source of neutral hydrogen out in space, over five thousand light years away from earth. This source is moving at such incredible velocity that it is very close to the speed of light."
There was a stunned silence in the room. Rick considered the implications of Winston's statement. The scientist had spent hours with Kerama and Farid going over the Sanborn tracings, checking the location of the source as shown by the big telescope's position. The change in the source's position, from the time of first discovery to yesterday's checking of the system, had given enough data to calculate its velocity with reasonable accuracy.
The big unknown was the precise distance of the source. Readings from a single position could not give distance with high accuracy, so the scientists weren't sure of their figures—yet.
Winston asked, "Dr. Kerama, do you want to explain what we have decided?"
The Egyptian scientist nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Winston. And thank you on behalf of all of us for determining that our mystery does not come from the receiver system itself, or from nearby."
Kerama faced the group. "Last night I sent cables, giving detailed information on times, locations, and our computations to the radio-telescope stations at Manchester, England, and Green Bank and Goldstone in the United States. I also, at Dr. Winston's suggestion, sent similar information to the Mount Palomar Observatory.
"If the other radio telescopes are able to participate, it will serve to confirm or disprove our own information. If confirmed, we will then have a precise fix on the source that has caused us so much concern. We will also have the benefit of continuous consultation with our American and English colleagues. At the same time, the two-hundred-inch telescope at Palomar will attempt to see this strange object and to photograph it."
Rick knew of the huge American radio telescope at Green Bank, West Virginia, and the smaller one at Goldstone Lake, in California. Both had tracked space probes to incredible distances. The Manchester telescope, more generally known as Jodrell Bank, had also tracked probes. With a team like that working along with Sahara Wells, results ought to be coming fast.
Dr. Kerama continued. "We have been so concerned with what we thought was a problem that we have not accumulated all possible data on this hydrogen source. We will start at once to do this. The first step, of course, is to determine how long it is within view of our antenna, so that we may set up a schedule. The next is to obtain as much material as we can on the 21-centimeter wave length. After that we will shift to other wave lengths to see if the source is emitting. Dr. Farid will make assignments."
Farid stood up. "A radio-teletype circuit will be installed at once. Work is already in progress in the city, and we should have installation crews here within an hour or two. That will enable us to keep in touch with the other stations. For now, I would like Dr. Mandarawi and Dr. Azrar to establish the time when the source will be within our horizon, and set up the necessary data for the operator in charge of each shift. The rest of us will check out the circuit and establish calibration to be ready for recording this afternoon."
The scientist gestured to Rick and Scotty. "We know that the source will not come up over our horizon until about one o'clock. When it does, we would appreciate your help in making audio recordings. Until then, you're on your own."
"What'll we do?" Scotty asked.
Rick looked at his watch. It was shortly after nine. "Why not go over to see the pyramids? Then we can have lunch at the Mena House and come back in time to go to work."
"Good idea. Better tell Winston, though, in case something comes up."
Rick did so, and the boys went outside to where Hassan waited patiently. They told him their plans and got into the little car for the short drive to Giza.
"I got some of that, but not all," Scotty said. "Give me a brief rundown."
"Okay. I'm no expert, but I think I got the drift. To start with, the most common thing in space is hydrogen gas. It gives off energy that can be detected on the 21-centimeter wave length. This is important to the radio astronomers, because they can use their telescopes to figure out how hydrogen is distributed throughout the universe."
"I'm with you," Scotty said. "Now our boys have proved that the funny signals in the hydrogen impulse they've been getting originate in space, and hydrogen shouldn't act like that."
"That's it. Also, a hydrogen source in space ought to stay fixed. But this one is shooting off at high velocity. That would be strange enough, but it's also giving off signals that don't seem natural."
"So the scientists yell for help from their colleagues in America and England, and perhaps someone can figure out what's causing this strange behavior?"
"On the button, ol' buddy."
Scotty grinned. "It will probably turn out to be an Egyptian space cat mewing for milk from the Milky Way."
Rick patted the kitten in his pocket. He had replaced the one turned over to the intruder the night before. Now, as he told Scotty, only two orphan kittens needed homes. But placing the kittens didn't answer the questions that puzzled him. Why was the Egyptian cat important? And who were the people that wanted it?
There were things about the mystery that didn't add up. For instance, Fuad Moustafa had written a polite letter claiming the cat, but strictly impolite and violent efforts had been made to get it. And where were the brothers Moustafa?
Hassan drew to a stop before the great pyramid of Khufu. "We here. Want to go in?"
"In a while," Rick answered. "We'll take a look around outside, first."
The boys got out of the car and gazed upward at the incredible pile of masonry. The blocks were huge, weathered by centuries of wind and sand. Once the whole pyramid had been covered with a smooth facing of stone, but much of it had been destroyed by thieves trying to find the entrance to the Pharaoh's tomb.
Rick saw that the top of the lowermost course of blocks was covered with chips of the weathered stone. He picked up a couple and put them in his pocket. His rock collection at home could use a genuine piece of pyramid, and his sister Barby would like one for a paperweight.
"This could be climbed," Scotty said, gazing upward.
"Oh, yes," Hassan affirmed. "Some guides go up to top all the time. Can show you best way. You want to go?"
"Not now," Scotty said. "Let's look around first. But I'm going to climb this before we leave."
"And I'll be with you," Rick said.
They reached the corner of the pyramid and Rick sighted along the edge.
The thing that impressed him most was the size of the individual blocks. Photographs were usually taken at sufficient distance to show the entire pyramid. At that distance they looked pretty smooth. Close up, it was a tremendous jigsaw puzzle of blocks that weighed tons.
Rick had expected a considerable number of tourists and guides, but apparently it was too early. Down by the Sphinx he saw a few Arabs, but no foreigners were in sight. He was glad they could see at least a part of Giza before the crowd arrived. "Take us inside, Hassan," he requested.
"Can do. You follow."
Hassan led the way to the center of the side. High above their heads, he pointed to a hole. "Up there."
The three climbed through tumbled blocks to the opening and paused to look around. This was not the opening the Pharaoh had intended. It had been made by thieves, centuries ago. By boring downward at an angle, they had intercepted the inner passageways that led to the buried king and his treasure.
Electric lights were strung along the corridor at intervals, but the passage was far from bright. Hassan led the way, with Rick following and Scotty bringing up the rear.
Scotty's voice reverberated in the stone passageway. "I've been thinking that you ought to be just about overcome with happiness. Two mysteries on your hands, one detective type and one scientific type, and now you're walking into the middle of a few million tons of rock. How full can life get?"
Rick grinned. "And you're not happy at all. Just came along for the ride, I suppose?"
"Oh, I'm happy. But I'm a simple soul. One mystery at a time and plenty of chow is all I need."
They left the tunnel cut by the thieves and found themselves in a broad concourse with high ceiling and walls that still held the remnants of ancient decorations. Rick's vivid imagination could picture the scene as it must once have been, with torches lighting the route as the mighty Khufu was carried by richly clad slaves along this route to the inner crypt.
Hassan pointed to where a side passage led upward. "Room there. Queen buried, but nothing now. All gone. Thieves take."
This was the story of Egypt. Few tombs had been found intact. That was why finding Tut-Ankh-Amon had been of such importance. Most of the burial places of the Pharaohs had been found and looted many centuries ago. One such tomb would make a band of thieves and their descendants rich. But while the thieves had grown fat, history had suffered. Each rifled tomb meant quantities of historical materials lost forever.
Scotty held up a hand. "Someone coming."
"More tourist, maybe," Hassan offered.
Rick looked around. In the echoing chamber it was hard to tell the direction from which the footsteps were coming, and whether it was one person or many. Hassan was probably right, he thought. It was late enough in the day for tourists to be arriving.
And on the heels of the thought, Arabs erupted from the entrance through which they had come!
There was less than a second of doubt. The men were after them! Rick saw Scotty crouch as an Arab charged, saw the Arab go headlong through the air as Scotty caught him in a judo throw. Then Rick and Hassan were fighting for their lives!
An Arab rushed at Rick, arms widespread, and the boy stepped between the arms and threw a short punch that caught the attacker squarely on the nose. Blood spurted and he let out an anguished yell, then Rick put a foot in his stomach and heaved. The man flew backward, arms flailing, and landed on top of one who was grappling with Hassan. The guide took advantage of the break to grasp his second assailant around the middle and dump him. The guide kicked expertly and the Arab lay still.
Scotty was backing away from two of them when Rick charged to the rescue. He hit one from behind, his shoulder taking the man at the knees. The Arab slammed forward. Scotty jumped in and grabbed his second attacker by the burnoose, then fell backward with him and flipped. The Arab flew through the air like an ungainly bird and slammed into the farther wall.
Rick choked back a yell of despair as three more Arabs charged through the passageway. They were hopelessly outnumbered now. He saw Hassan with an Arab's throat between his hands, and he saw another attacker coming up on the guide from behind, a knife in his hand.
There wasn't time to reach Hassan. Rick had only one weapon. He plucked the concrete kitten from his pocket and threw, his whole body giving the flying statue speed and direction. It caught the knife wielder where his headdress met his ear. He dropped as though hit with an ax. The kitten fell to the stone floor and shattered.
Three Arabs hit Scotty at the same time. Rick dove headlong into the fray and got his hands around a stubble-covered face. He put a knee in the man's back and wrenched, but the Arab turned like a cat and reached for his throat.
A voice yelled in Arabic. Miraculously, the Arabs fell back. As Rick and Scotty got to their feet they saw the burnoosed figures raise hands high.