At the passage entrance was a man in Western dress, an Egyptian with a bristling mustache and a tremendous nose. He was obviously a person of authority, and the authority was made plain by the Luger automatic pistol he held in his hand.
The Arabs crowded together, hands high. Then, at another sharply spoken Arabic phrase, they all lay face down on the floor, arms stretched out before them.
At that moment the newcomer's eyes caught sight of the broken kitten on the stone floor. He stiffened, and he took a step toward it. Then he reconsidered.
"Mr. Brant, or Mr. Scott," he commanded. "One of you only. Bring me the pieces of the cat!"
Rick was nearest to the broken kitten. He went over and picked up three large pieces. There were a few smaller ones, but he didn't think they would matter. He walked over and held the pieces out.
The man with the pistol took one and examined it. Rick noted that it was the biggest piece, actually over half the cat.
Suddenly the man smiled. It was a fine, happy smile that showed white teeth under his black mustache.
"A fine specimen," he said. "Where did you get it?"
"It just sort of came to us," Rick evaded.
"Indeed? A pity it was broken. Do you want the pieces?"
This surprised Rick. He stared into the smiling brown eyes. "No. Don't you?"
"I have a definite interest in cats, but not in this one. Come, shall we go to the outside? I think you have probably had enough of Khufu's tomb by this time, eh?"
The pistol motioned to the outstretched Arabs. "This carrion will not bother us. I told them the first man to step outside the pyramid before an hour has elapsed would be shot."
To Rick's astonishment the man tucked the pistol into a capacious jacket pocket, then turned and walked toward the outer entrance. Rick, Scotty, and Hassan followed.
In a few moments they stood blinking in the sunlight. Their rescuer gave them a polite bow. "You are probably wondering who I am, and how I appeared so opportunely, eh? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kemel Moustafa."
The brother of Ali and Fuad! Rick remembered the words of the hotel intruder who had taken the first kitten: The Moustafas were known for the largest mustaches and noses in the United Arab Republic. Well, the description fitted.
"I'm Rick Brant," he said. "This is Don Scott, and our guide, Hassan."
Kemel Moustafa shook hands all around. "I am thirsty," he announced. "We will exchange stories over coffee, eh? The Mena House is close by, and I have a car."
"So do we," Rick said. "We came in Hassan's car."
"Then let us drive down in our separate cars and meet there. We have much to talk over."
That was an understatement, Rick thought. He wondered as Hassan drove them to the hotel below the pyramids: had the business in the pyramid been staged so Kemel could come to the rescue? If not, that meant two different groups were interested in the cat.
The way Kemel Moustafa had looked at the broken kitten was revealing, too. One glance and he had rejected it. How had he known? He put the question aloud to Scotty.
"Maybe it didn't break like plastic," Scotty guessed. "Or, it's possible the original is unbreakable."
Rick didn't think either of those answers could be the right one. "Could there be something inside the cat? Kernel would have seen right away that the broken one was solid."
"There's a hunk of lead in the cat, according to Bartouki. But suppose you're right, and it isn't lead? What could be valuable enough to cause all these wild goings-on?"
"Diamonds. Rubies. Maybe a radium needle in a lead shield. The possibilities are endless."
"Uhuh. Only one thing bothers me a little. Why use a plastic cat as a container to smuggle things into Egypt? There must be better ways."
"This way hasn't been very successful," Rick agreed. "Anyway, here's the hotel. Let's ask Kemel Moustafa."
Over coffee, Rick asked the third Moustafa brother many questions, and received answers to most of them—although the answers were not always satisfactory.
Moustafa anticipated some of the questions. As the waiter brought coffee, he pulled out his wallet and showed the boys his identity card, driver's license, and business card. Clearly, he was Kemel Moustafa.
"I have been to Khartoum on business," he said. "Last night I returned to the city and found that a family emergency had taken both of my brothers out of town. Fuad left very suddenly, after he had written to you. I apologize on his behalf. However, he must be excused, since a call from Ali, in Beirut, sent him running to the airport to catch the next flight. He simply had no time even to call you. His secretary tried to call you today, without success."
"We wondered," Rick said.
"Of course. And you are also wondering how I came into the pyramid at just the right time. A fortunate accident. You see, I came to Sahara Wells hoping to see you, but you were sightseeing. Dr. Winston was kind enough to tell me where you were. I simply went hunting for you. A quick drive around the area told me you must be in one of the pyramids, and the biggest one seemed the most logical place to look for you."
Rick believed him. Moustafa wouldn't tell a tale that a moment's talk with Winston would disprove.
"Who was the man who pretended to be your brother Ali?" Scotty asked.
"His chief clerk. He is an arrogant type who often shows poor judgment. Instead of simply explaining to you that Ali was out of town, he apparently told you he was Ali. This was the case?"
Rick confirmed it.
"He will be discharged at once. I suspected it when I questioned him last night. He gave some lame excuse about your refusing to hand over the cat to anyone except my brother Ali. He told Fuad the same thing, according to his secretary."
"It wasn't such a lame excuse, Mr. Moustafa," Rick corrected. "Mr. Bartouki asked us to deliver the cat to Ali Moustafa. We have no instructions to deliver it to anyone else."
"I see. And I commend your discretion. But my brother Ali will not return for many weeks, and you will not want to take the cat back to America with you. So we will telephone Mohammed Bartouki, and you will hear directly from him that I am a suitable substitute for my brother."
Scotty asked bluntly, "Why is the cat so important?"
Moustafa spread his hands wide. "Why not? The creature will open a new industry in Cairo. It will employ a number of people. It will make a profit for the Moustafa-Bartouki enterprises. It will please the tourists. Obviously the cat is important."
Rick tossed in his loaded question. "How did you know the cat in the pyramid wasn't the cat we brought from America?"
Kernel Moustafa's thick eyebrows went up. "It was obvious, was it not? The broken cat was made of colored concrete. The cat Bartouki took such pains to develop was of a plastic that does not have the graininess of concrete. If you tell me the one in the pyramid was indeed the original, I will be very disappointed. Such a model would not be suitable."
"It wasn't," Rick said briefly.
"Ah. And where is the original?"
Rick's smile was every bit as warm and friendly as Kemel Moustafa's. "Perhaps the answer to that had better wait until we have talked to Bartouki."
The Egyptian's smile broadened. "Discretion in one so young," he proclaimed, "is a rare and precious thing." He put money on the table for their coffee and rose.
"You will excuse me? I have business in the city. But tonight at seven I will come to your hotel and we will phone our friend in New York. It will then be noon in New York, and we will find him reading the Koran at home. This is his custom. Until then,Assalamo alaikum, which is to say, 'Good day to you.'"
As the boys walked to where Hassan waited, Scotty grinned at Rick. "'Discretion in one so young,'" he quoted, "'is a rare and precious thing.' He should know you as I do. Discretion has nothing to do with it. You just don't want to part with that cat until you know everything there is to know about it."
Rick shrugged. "I haven't heard you volunteering to hand the poor creature over. Besides, our pal Kemel is not all that he seems."
"And how do you know?"
"Easy. Did he ask us who jumped us in the pyramid, or why? Did he explain why he carries a Luger? Nope, to both. He carries a Luger because there's danger in this business. And he knows why those Arabs jumped us. He may not know them by name, but he knows what they were after, and he knows why."
"Which is more than we know," Scotty concluded.
"For now," Rick agreed. "But we'll find out before we're through, one way or another!"
Rick opened the door to a knock at precisely two minutes of seven, and admitted Kernel Moustafa. The Egyptian shook hands politely. "It takes some time to get a call through," he said, "so I placed our call an hour ago. The operator assured me it would go through precisely at seven."
Moustafa turned to Scotty and shook hands again. "According to my watch, we have only a few seconds to wait. Mr. Brant, you will answer the phone, if you please. Identify Bartouki to your own satisfaction, then ask him about Kemel Moustafa. Then turn the phone over to me, and I will talk with him. After that you take the phone back again, and he will give you final instructions. This is acceptable?"
"Absolutely," Rick said. He thought quickly. How could he establish Bartouki's identity for certain? Then, as the phone rang, he knew.
Rick answered. "Rick Brant speaking."
"On your call to New York. Mr. Bartouki is on the line. Go ahead, please."
Rick raised his voice instinctively. After all, New York was a long distance away! Then he realized that electronic facilities reduce the need for shouting, and lowered it again. "Mr. Bartouki? This is Rick Brant."
"Good morning, Rick. Ah, but this is evening in Cairo, is it not?"
Rick was sure he identified the little merchant's voice, but he went ahead anyway. "Mr. Bartouki, please forgive me, but I must establish your identity beyond any doubt. Can you tell me what color dress my sister Barbara wore at your reception, and the color of her hair and eyes?"
"Of course. Her dress was a very attractive blue wool with a red leather belt. She is very blond, with dark-blue eyes, and she is about my height."
Rick was satisfied. "Thank you, sir. The reason I had to be careful is this. We went to Ali Moustafa's shop, and a man who did not answer your description of Ali Moustafa pretended to be him. We refused to give up the cat. Then our room was searched. We received a letter from Fuad Moustafa, and when we went to his house it was padlocked. Last night a man came to our room with a pistol and demanded the cat. We gave him a copy we had made in concrete. I should add we also were attacked in front of the Egyptian Museum by men who searched us. That was why we made the copies in concrete. The real one is hidden. Then, this morning, we were attacked again, inside the pyramid. We were rescued by Kemel Moustafa. He is here with us now. If you approve, we will give him the cat. If not, tell us what to do with it."
Bartouki's voice sounded incredulous over the ocean miles. "This is incredible! I must know the meaning of this. May I speak to Kemel?"
Rick handed the phone to the third brother and listened. Kemel launched immediately into a rapid flow of Arabic.
Scotty interrupted, "Can you speak in English please?"
Kemel stopped abruptly. "Of course. Forgive me." He spoke into the phone. "Your young American friends want me to speak in English, Mohammed. They are cautious, and they have reason. I did not know of their room being searched, the man who came with a pistol, or the attack in front of the museum. I arrived this morning because I had gone to the radio telescope to look for them.... Yes ... yes, most certainly I will try to find out who has caused them such trouble. Ali and Fuad are in Beirut. It is because of our father. You know that he has been very ill? Yes, by all means send a cable. It will be appreciated. And now, if you will tell Mr. Brant ... yes ...ma'e salamet Ellah, Mohammed. Allah protect you."
Moustafa handed the phone to Rick. The boy said quickly, "Yes, sir?"
"My dear boy, I am very upset by this affair." Bartouki sounded agitated, even across the miles. "Kemel will try to find out what has been going on. Meanwhile, please give him the model. And accept my apologies for getting you into such a situation, and my thanks for your loyalty to our model cat. I hope to show my appreciation when you return, and I shall certainly want to hear all about this. But for now, trust Kemel. He is my friend and associate."
Rick promised to do so, said good-by, and hung up. He turned to Moustafa and Scotty. "Mr. Bartouki agrees. We turn the cat over."
Kemel stroked his mustache. "Yes. But first, I must know of these attacks. Can you describe the men who attacked you at the Egyptian Museum?"
Scotty could, and did. He gave complete details of dress and appearance.
The Egyptian shook his head. "I'm afraid the descriptions mean nothing. They did not harm you?"
"They could have," Rick stated. "But they only searched us. We didn't have the cat with us, and it took only seconds for them to find out."
Moustafa's brows creased. "I can make no sense of this. Why would anyone want the cat?"
Rick and Scotty laughed mirthlessly. "That's exactly the same question we asked ourselves a thousand times," Rick said.
"And you made copies of concrete? That was extremely clever of you. I believe you gave one to a man who showed up here?"
Rick described the encounter, and he gave a detailed description of the man. Before he was through, Moustafa was nodding his head.
"I recognize this man! From your description, it can only be one Youssef. He is a well-known thief, and the leader of a gang. My brother Fuad was once requested to defend him, and refused. Another lawyer with less scruples took the case and got him off."
"But why would a thief want the cat?" Scotty asked.
Moustafa shook his head. "I do not know. Unless he intends to sell the model to a manufacturer, or to produce cats for sale himself. Or, if he knows how much time, money, and planning we have invested in this cat, he may see it as a means of revenge on the Moustafas because Fuad would not take his case."
The answer was logical enough, but it didn't ring true to Rick. At least the revenge part didn't. What had Youssef said? "I have no sentimental attachment to this object. I merely want it." A motive of revenge would be emotional, even if not exactly sentimental.
"Why do you carry a pistol?" Rick asked suddenly.
It took Moustafa a moment to reply. "I have enemies," he explained. "I will not bore you with an explanation of why this is, but the reasons are not related to this cat."
"How did you know the cat in the pyramid was not the right one?" Scotty demanded.
Moustafa studied the boy for a long moment before he replied. He shrugged. "I have been a contractor. I know concrete. The cat you brought is of plastic, which does not break. Or, if it does, it breaks differently. From your questions, I see you still harbor suspicions. Was not Bartouki's word enough?"
"It was," Rick said. "Only we'd like to know about these attacks. Who were the men, and why did they want the cat?"
"Then my explanation does not seem sufficient. I am truly sorry, because we are in your debt. But I cannot tell you more, because I know no more. The only thing I can do is talk to some people I know who may have more clues to Youssef's behavior."
Moustafa's attitude changed subtly. "Now, where is the cat?"
Rick was suddenly glad he didn't have it at hand. "It's in the Egyptian Museum," he said.
Moustafa exploded. "What!"
"That's right," Scotty added coolly. "We saw the men trailing us, so Rick hid the cat in the museum. If he hadn't, the thieves would have it now."
Moustafa sank down into a chair, a hand to his forehead. "But this is terrible! We can never recover it! Surely by now the museum curator has it."
Rick shook his head. "I don't think so. And I'm sure we can recover it."
"But how? Guards swarm everywhere. They are alert, because there was a big robbery not long ago. Everyone is watched. Everyone! I don't understand even how you could hide it without being seen."
"We have our own methods," Rick assured him. "And we'll get the cat back. If you will come here tomorrow night it will be waiting for you."
Moustafa rose and walked to the door. He looked at the boys, and above the luxuriant mustache, dark eyes blazed at them. "It had better be," he said flatly. "If you are caught by the museum guards you had better say it was a joke. As Americans, you may be believed. Do not connect me, or my brothers, or Bartouki with this thing! But get that cat! I don't care how. But get it!"
He slammed the door behind him.
Rick looked at Scotty. "Get it, or else?"
"Or else," Scotty confirmed. "He didn't say it, but he meant it."
Rick put his thoughts into words. "No one gets that excited over a plastic model. The cat is important for some other reason. But what?"
"I'll ask a different question for a change. Who would you rather have on your trail, Moustafa or Youssef?"
Rick stared at his pal for a long moment while he digested the implications of the question. "I see what you mean," he said finally. "There are two groups after the cat. Right? I've wondered about that myself, since we were rescued by Kemel this morning. So we're caught between a pair of tough characters, like eggs in the jaws of a vise."
Scotty finished grimly, "And right now the jaws are closing. Fast."
A thought struck Rick and he grinned. "How about scrambled eggs for New Year's Eve dinner?"
"What?"
"It's New Year's Eve."
Scotty reached in his pocket and found a pocket calendar. He consulted it. "Hey, you're not kidding!"
"Nope. So, as the year closes, where are we? Caught between Kemel and Youssef."
"Maybe next year will bring better things," Scotty said with a grin.
"Uhuh. But for whom?"
"That," Scotty said, "remains to be seen!"
There was an air of excitement at the project when the boys arrived there the following morning. Everyone was busy on equipment, or studying Sanborn tracings. Winston and Kerama were working a slide rule while Farid read figures.
The boys waited until Winston gave a number, which Kerama marked on the pad he carried. Then the scientist looked up and gave the boys a big grin.
"Happy New Year both of you! Interesting news this morning. Take a look at these."
They were teletype sheets. Rick saw that a machine was now in one corner of the control room, where technicians had finished installing it during the night.
He and Scotty read the messages. Translated from the cryptic notations and abbreviations used by the astronomers, it added up to confirmation of the Egyptian findings by both Jodrell Bank and Green Bank. Both reported that they had also located a source of apparently modulated hydrogen impulses. Both gave the same co-ordinates in space, in terms of ascension and declination, the way astronomers locate the position of heavenly bodies. Both stated that the finding was remarkable and requested all available data from Sahara Wells, and both announced their intention of concentrating on the object while it was in "view" of their radio telescopes.
Rick looked at Winston, his eyes shining. "Boy! We're on to something big. What's the next step?"
"Next is a precise fix and distance computations by all stations. At the same time, we want two kinds of recordings. We'll continue making Sanborn tapes, but we also want audio-tape recordings."
"You want to actually hear this thing?" Scotty asked. This was unusual, since the radio telescopes ordinarily recorded the incoming signals in trace form on Sanborn strips.
"We don't want to overlook any possibility," Dr. Kerama said. "This is without precedent, and we are not sure how to proceed. Dr. Farid has set up an amplifier on the output circuit, in parallel with the normal system, and he has brought in a pair of tape recorders we borrowed from the government radio station. It may be that listening to this signal will give us clues that our eyes miss when we examine the tracings."
Winston added, "That's your job. I intended to keep you here together, a half day at a time. But this is too important for such considerations, and we haven't a large enough Egyptian staff to handle everything. So I'd like to work you in shifts."
"That's okay," Rick assured him. "When do we start?"
"The object comes up on our horizon shortly after one. Suppose you start then. The first shift can work until five, and the second from five to eleven. One of the Egyptian technicians will take over then until we lose the source below the horizon again."
Hakim Farid took the boys to the tape setup he had established and explained it to them. It was simple enough. The output signal from the receivers was fed into a regular tape-recording circuit. The tapes themselves were on huge reels good for about four hours of recording. It would only be necessary to watch the volume control and to see that all was running smoothly. Changing tapes was only a matter of slapping a new reel into place, dropping the tape into the recording head, and threading it into the empty reel.
"How will we work it?" Scotty asked, while they rechecked the setup and tried out the tape motors.
Rick frowned. "It kind of throws a monkey wrench into our plan, doesn't it?" He and Scotty had worked out a way to recover the Egyptian cat, again with Scotty distracting the guard.
"One of us will have to get it alone," Scotty said.
Rick watched the tape run through and searched his mind for a method. There was only one way he could think of that would get the guard out of the way. "Looks as if that third kitten is going to have a home," he said finally. "I'll wrap it in an old newspaper, then pretend to find it under something. I'll hand it to the guard. With luck, he'll get so excited he'll run for his boss, thinking someone has tried to steal a museum exhibit. Then I'll snaffle kitty off the shelf and hike out."
Scotty rubbed his chin. "Could work," he said finally. "Unless the guard insists that you go with him."
"No speak Arabic," Rick said. "I won't understand. Let's hope the guard speaks no English."
"Well, if anything goes wrong, Moustafa will just have to wait. So I'll take the first shift and you go get puss. That means I'll be waiting for ol' Kemel alone tonight at the hotel."
"Looks that way."
There seemed to be no solution except to turn the cat over. Bartouki had approved, and the cat was his. Much as the boys hated to let go of an unsolved mystery, there wasn't any other way.
Hassan drove Rick back into town, with the boy sitting in back. He would have preferred to be in the front seat with the dragoman, but the taxi meter took up too much room.
The guide parked directly in front of the museum and asked, "I go with you?"
"Not this time, Hassan. I won't be long." If Rick's trick was to work, no translator should be at hand.
He paid his piastres at the entrance and walked into the huge entrance hall, very conscious of the kitten in his pocket. It was wrapped in a week-old copy of a newspaper recovered from the debris around the new barracks.
When he reached the second floor he acted like a casual museum visitor, taking his time, and working from exhibit to exhibit. But his mind was not on the wonders of ancient Egypt. It wasn't much use to think about the cat, either. All the ground had been covered many times. Instead, he spent the time speculating on the meaning of the mysterious signal from space. Admittedly, he didn't have much knowledge of astrophysics or radio astronomy. But he had never heard of any natural phenomenon in space that emitted pulsed signals in random fashion. Some stars pulsed, like the Cepheid variables, but in an orderly way.
A half hour of speculation led him nowhere so far as the space mystery was concerned, but it did bring him slowly to the museum area that interested him. He nodded politely at the guard, and continued his examination of exhibits, moving finally into the little room where the cat was hidden. Soon he was close enough to see that the Egyptian cat and its antique friend were still in place. He continued on around the room until he came to a glassed-in case that held some rare alabaster figures. Directly before the glass case was a stone jar. It was big enough to hold the kitten.
Rick got ready. His coat was unbuttoned. He put a hand in the outside pocket, ready to swing the coat out so his other hand could remove the kitten from the inside game pocket with one swoop. He watched the guard, using the glass-case front as a mirror.
The guard bent his head to light a cigarette, and Rick moved. By the time the cigarette was going well, the kitten was in the jar and Rick was looking at the figures in the case again. He waited patiently, and tried identifying the figures so he would seem to be genuinely interested.
The figure with the stylized jackal head was Anubis, the god of death. The hawk-headed one must be Horus. The female figure would be Isis. The one with the solar disc over his head was probably Amon-Ré. The rest he couldn't identify at all. He wondered if one of them was Bubaste, the cat goddess. It would be appropriate.
He drew back a little, first checking to see if the guard was watching, then he bent down and looked into the jar. He put a hand in and brought out the newspaper. He turned it over and hefted it. Then he started to unwrap it.
The guard was at his side in a flash, watching. The reddish form of the cat came into view and the guard snatched it from his hands. Rick turned to him with a look of bewilderment.
The guard unwrapped the kitten completely and held it up, then he turned swiftly and hurried out.
Rick was across the room in two bounds. He grabbed the Egyptian cat and tucked it into his inner pocket, then he closed his coat without buttoning it and hurried after the guard.
The guard hadn't gone far. Rick found him with another guard, gesticulating and waving the cat. Apparently the other guard was an officer, because he had tabs on his shoulder.
The guard with the cat saw Rick and beckoned to him. He walked over, trying to keep his expression interested but unconcerned.
The officer spoke English, but not well. "He say you get this?"
"I see in big jar. Vase. Stone. In newspaper. Someone leave?" Rick did his best to make his reply simple enough for understanding. He apparently succeeded.
"Think someone try steal. Bad."
"Very bad," Rick agreed, straight-faced. "Hope you find. Steal from museum no good."
"No good," the officer agreed.
"Good-by," Rick said. He held his breath waiting for the reaction.
Both guards gave him a half-salute, the courteous gesture he had seen often in Cairo. He bowed and walked toward the stairs.
Not until he was outside did he breathe freely. The cat was a comforting weight in his pocket as he got into Hassan's car. He wondered what the museum officials would think about the kitten. A moment's examination by one of the archaeologists would show that it was of concrete, and new concrete at that. Maybe it would just end up at theLost and Founddesk, if they had one.
"Let's go back to the project, Hassan," he directed. Scotty would want to know if he had been successful. Then he could go to the Mena House and have a late lunch while Scotty recorded signals.
If only he didn't have to give the Egyptian cat to Moustafa—until the mystery was solved. He grinned at his own thought. The cat was no good to him, was it? His only interest was solving the mystery. Why did so many people want it?
He forced himself to think logically. It was old ground, but he went over it again. The cat itself could have no real value. It was plastic, and plastic is cheap. On the other hand, it was valuable as a model, as Bartouki had explained, and Moustafa had confirmed again last night.
Rick wasn't satisfied. A professional thief like Youssef wouldn't be interested in a model. He would want only objects of high value.
There was only one possibility, which Rick and Scotty had considered before, that the cat contained something more than the piece of lead Bartouki had described. But there was no seam in the cat, no sign that it was anything but a solid casting. Still, Rick reasoned, if a piece of lead could be cast into it, so could something of greater value.
He had it! Somewhere in Cairo there must be a company that used X-ray or gamma-ray photography to check large castings. It was a very common method of industrial quality control. Farid or Kerama would know of one, and he could arrange to have the cat X-rayed! It could be done immediately.
Pleased with the idea, he paid attention to his surroundings for the first time since leaving the museum. Hassan was just rounding the corner by Sahara Wells, turning into the new spur that led to the project.
Ahead, across the road, was a caravan of camels. Rick watched, interested. There were a dozen camels, and Arabs in burnooses. Some of the camels seemed to be carrying loads. Like a movie, Rick thought.
Hassan slowed, tooting his horn. The group on the road paid no attention. They weren't going to get out of the way for any old gas burner, Rick thought. Not these traditional ships of the desert.
The car closed the gap, and one of the Arabs turned. Rick gasped. Under the desert headdress a pair of eyes were looking at the car through steel-rimmed glasses.
Youssef!
And Youssef wanted the cat!
There was no way around the caravan without going into the desert, and the car was too close to turn around. They were trapped!
Rick hurriedly took the cat from his pocket and stuffed it down behind the cushion of the car, pushing until it was well hidden. He knew he would be searched; why else would Youssef come? He hoped a search was all there was to worry about.
Hassan leaned out of his window and shouted imprecations in Arabic, to which the Arabs paid no attention. They closed around the car, and Rick recognized two who had taken part in the attack at the museum—the Sudanese and the big Egyptian who had worn a tarboosh. He also recognized the one he had beaned with the kitten in the pyramid.
He was not among friends, he thought grimly.
Youssef opened the door. "Please get out," he requested. "It will be easier if you co-operate."
Rick looked at the odds and had to agree. He got out. Hassan was right behind him, still shouting in Arabic.
An Arab stepped up behind the guide and slugged him. Rick started to yell a protest, then a burnoose was tossed over his head and wrapped tightly around his chest, blocking out the light. He struggled, and was pushed to the ground. In a moment he was rolled over and knew they were wrapping him in a blanket or a rug.
He felt pressure as ropes bound him tight, then he was lifted and placed on something hard, stomach down, like a sack of meal on a chair. The chair lifted and rocked, and he heard loud groans, as though of a soul in mortal pain.
He was on one of the camels, and the beast was protesting!
Swaying motion began, and he knew his ungainly steed was underway.
For a moment he seemed to see himself from a distance, wrapped like Cleopatra in a rug, tossed on a camel like a bag of old clothes, and carted unceremoniously away by a band of Arabs. The picture was so ridiculous that he had to grin, in spite of the discomfort and the foul air that reached him through the dirty burnoose.
Then realization hit him. Youssef was in charge, and Youssef was a tough professional thief who intended to get the cat. Where was the thief taking him?
Sudden fear ran through his thoughts.
The camel swayed and jogged along for what seemed hours to Rick. Now and then he could hear voices, but he made no sense out of the Arabic. The camels complained constantly, and he felt like moaning with them. His stomach hurt from the constant rubbing across the saddle and both legs were asleep from the tight wrapping. His head dangled down, and now and then his nose banged when the camel lurched. He couldn't remember ever having been so uncomfortable for so long.
It seemed forever before the camel stopped. Rick hung over the saddle unprotestingly. There was nothing he could do but wait. Finally the camel lurched forward and Rick thought he would be thrown off, then the animal leveled again. The camel had knelt, still complaining.
Hands pulled Rick from the saddle and he felt someone at work on his bonds while the hands held him upright. Suddenly the burnoose was whipped off, and the brilliant sunlight made his eyes water. He squinted against the glare.
An Arab finished unwrapping him and stood back. He would have fallen except for the hands that still held him from behind. He looked over his shoulder and the big Sudanese grinned at him. He didn't feel like grinning back.
When his eyes were adjusted to the sun, he looked around. There was desert in all directions, no sign of civilization anywhere. Immediately before him was an ancient stone structure, nearly buried by the sands.
Youssef walked around one of the camels carrying a desert water bag. The thief lifted it, and water poured into his mouth in a thin stream. Rick licked his lips. "I'd like some of that," he said.
Youssef recorked the bag. "Doubtless," he agreed. "Mr. Brant, I size you up as what you Americans term a stubborn case. However, I am prepared to drop this whole affair right now—if you will turn over the cat without further trouble."
"We gave you a cat," Rick reminded.
"Yes. But not the right one."
"How do you know it isn't the right one?" Rick demanded.
Youssef smiled. "Shall we say that I had a cat expert examine it? Let it go, Mr. Brant. We both know you still have the one I want."
"But why do you want it?" Rick asked. He couldn't help asking, even though this obviously was not the time for friendly banter.
"I want it. That is enough. Will you give it to me?"
"I can't," Rick explained. "It must be turned over to Moustafa." He didn't say which Moustafa.
The thief sighed. "Then I was right. You are stubborn. Well, stubbornness is like starch. It does not last. In this case, we will let the desert and thirst take the starch out of you. After a few days here you will beg me to take the cat. But it is all so foolish, and so unnecessary! Why not be reasonable?"
Rick looked around at the endless, shimmering dunes of the Sahara, and he wanted desperately to be reasonable. He couldn't. "Sorry," he said.
"Very well. On your head be it." Youssef called in Arabic and two men lifted down a huge bundle from one of the camels. They unwrapped it, and Hassan swayed and blinked in the glaring sun.
"You shall have company," Youssef stated. He gestured at the surrounding wastes. "We leave you to do what you wish. You might even try to walk to civilization. I will leave no guard. However, I do not recommend it, because when I return it might not be possible to find you in time if you should leave here. When I come back I will have writing materials and you will send a note to your friend Scott, telling him to give me the cat. When I have the cat, I will see that your friends are told how to find you."
The thief swung to a kneeling camel, and his men followed suit. A command and the camels rose, mouthing their complaints. Youssef waved, and the caravan raced away with long, smooth strides across the desert.
Rick turned to Hassan. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.
The dragoman put a hand to his head. "Hurts like fire, but I okay. You?"
"I'm fine."
"What we do now?"
Rick saw the camels disappear behind a dune, then emerge again. It was a pretty, romantic picture, but one he couldn't appreciate.
"We wait," he told Hassan. "We wait, and I guess we hope. There's nothing else we can do."
The hands of the control-room clock crept up to five. Scotty asked an Egyptian technician to watch the tapes for a moment, then went to the telephone and called the hotel.
It wasn't like Rick to be late. Scotty thought his pal might have decided to take a nap and had failed to wake up in time, but he had little faith in the idea. Rick wasn't a nap taker. More likely, something had happened at the museum.
The hotel desk rang the room without success, and to Scotty's question, the clerk answered that he had not seen Mr. Brant or Hassan since morning.
Scotty debated calling the museum, and decided against it. He went to Parnell Winston, who was supervising the transfer of information from the Sanborn tracings to graph paper.
"Rick hasn't shown," Scotty said bluntly. "I'm worried. He's never late."
Winston glanced up. "Could Hassan's car have broken down?"
"Could be, but I don't think so. Rick could have gotten a taxi anywhere on the route. Besides, he was going to the museum to get the Egyptian cat. Something might have happened."
The scientist knew the two boys from long association, and they had kept him informed of their various adventures. In spite of his preoccupation with the project he had been interested in their cat mystery and had been keeping an eye on them. Winston hadn't noticed that Rick was late, but he was worried too, now that it was called to his attention.
"Go find him, Scotty. Dr. Kerama's driver can take you. I'll have one of the others watch the tapes. But get back as soon as you can."
Scotty planned his search on the way into town. He had the car take him to the museum as soon as they arrived in Cairo. The museum was closed, but questioning of the guard disclosed that Rick had been there, and had "found" an unusual statue wrapped in newspaper and left in an urn. It was a new statue, the guard captain said, probably left by some visitor who had disobeyed the sign about taking packages into the museum.
So Rick had carried out the plan and had rescued the Egyptian cat. Now the museum had the kitten.
Scotty had the car take him to the hotel. There was no sign of either Rick or Hassan, and no one had seen either of them. Scotty questioned the clerk, the doorman, the hall porter, the room maid, and the dragomen who waited for business in the narrow street between the Semiramis and the Shepheard's hotels.
Finally, he found a dragoman who knew nothing of their whereabouts, but added, "Why you not wait in room? They not far. Hassan's car here."
"Where?" Scotty demanded quickly.
"Out back. In alley."
Scotty ran. The dragoman was right! Hassan's car was parked in the usual place. He looked around to see who might have been working in the area, someone who might know when the car had arrived.
A window in the hotel kitchen opened into the alley above the car and a cook was looking out. Scotty found the door and hurried into the hotel. He worked his way through rooms and corridors until he found the kitchen. He saw that the cook was a salad maker who apparently worked at a bench right next to the window, but to his questions the man shook his head. He spoke no English.
Additional searching produced the chief cook, whose English was good. He relayed Scotty's questions and the cook's answers.
"He say car come while he cleaning up after lunchtime. He see stranger driving. So he lean out and ask where is Hassan. Stranger say he is the cousin of Hassan and Hassan lend him car. That is all. Cousin lock up car and go away."
It was enough. But Scotty's elation over finding a clue was tempered by the realization that a stranger driving Hassan's car could mean that Rick and the dragoman were in real danger. He did not know whether or not Hassan had any cousins, but he was certain the guide would not have loaned the car while on a job.
Scotty ran into the alley and tried all the doors. If Rick had managed to leave a note or any clue in the car, Scotty wanted it. Locked doors weren't going to stop him!
He searched the alley until he found a piece of stiff wire. He bent one end into a hook. Then, with his jackknife, he pried one of the no-draft windows open just far enough to slip the wire in. He wedged the window with a piece of wood and began fishing.
It took long, patient minutes to hook a door handle, then more time to maneuver the wire into position. By the time he was ready for the last step, the cooks and some of the dragomen were watching. He paid no attention. Holding his breath, he exerted pressure on the wire. The inner handle turned, the latch clicked. The door was unlocked.
Scotty started in the front seat and went over the car methodically. He found nothing. Finally, only the cushions were left. He pulled the front one away and examined the debris that seems to collect under car seats. He put the cushion back and went to the rear one.
He lifted the seat out—and disclosed the Egyptian cat, in back of the cushion where Rick had stuffed it.
Scotty examined it, his heart racing. He hurriedly set things to rights in the car, closed the car door, and hurried into the hotel.
He knew Rick, and he knew his pal wouldn't have parted with the cat except for one reason: to protect it. That meant Rick had expected to be searched.
Scotty followed the thought forward, logically. Rick had hidden the cat, then he and Hassan had been taken from the car. A "cousin" had brought it back to the hotel. Why? Scotty didn't know the answer to that, unless Rick and Hassan had been taken in some location where an abandoned car would have attracted attention. That wouldn't be in the city, because who would pay any attention to a car parked and locked at the curb?
But if not in the city, where? Somewhere in the desert was Scotty's guess. The desert was on both sides of the river, both north and south of Cairo. He could assume that the two had headed for the project, or that they had gone north for some reason he couldn't imagine.
He dropped the line of thought; it was getting nowhere. One thing was clear: whoever had taken Rick and Hassan hadn't suspected that Rick actually had the cat with him.
The cat had to be the reason. Someone who wanted it had decided on direct action. Scotty opened the door of the room he shared with Rick and looked about him unhappily, not really seeing anything. He knew Rick's captors would not have an easy time making his pal talk. And even when Rick did open up, he would spin some kind of yarn that would throw them off the trail. Scotty thought that Rick would not be in any great danger until he disclosed the cat's whereabouts. But he didn't like the idea of what Rick would have to go through before then.
The question was who had taken him?
There were two possibilities: Moustafa and Youssef. So far as Third Brother knew, the cat was to be delivered to him at the hotel that night. On the other hand, Youssef's men had searched them in front of the museum, and later Rick had handed Youssef a kitten. The thief must have found out that the kitten was a fake.
Scotty picked up the room telephone and called the project. In a moment he had Winston on the line. "Rick's gone," he said tersely. "Hassan, too. The car was brought to the hotel by a stranger. Rick left the cat in the car, behind the rear cushion. He wouldn't do that unless he knew he was going to be searched. My guess is that Youssef snatched them. I think it's time we got the police in on this!"
Tourists travel thousands of miles to see the full moon rise over the Sahara Desert. It is a sight of lonely, majestic grandeur. The rolling contours of sand and rock assume weird, lovely patterns, and even the desert wind is hushed. It is at such times, men say, that the spirits of the ancient Egyptian gods, Amon-Ré, Horus, Thoth, Isis, Osiris, Bubaste, and the others again walk on earth.
Rick Brant could appreciate the scene, but he was in no mood for it. He clutched his coat around him more tightly to keep out the penetrating desert chill. From behind a nearby dune he heard the rising, yapping howl of a jackal, one of earth's loneliest sounds.
Anubis, Egyptian god of death, had the head of a jackal, he recalled. He tried to wet his lips. He was terribly thirsty.
Hassan had been stretched out on the sand. He rose to a sitting position and gestured toward the dune that shielded the jackal from sight. "He noisy."
Rick nodded. "Do jackals always bark at night?"
"Always. It is their kismet."
Their fate, Rick thought. Born to bark at the empty desert. He wondered if the little doglike animals enjoyed it. "Do they always bark at nothing?"
"No. Sometimes they bark at people. Like now. He bark at us."
Rick grinned feebly. "He doesn't like us using his desert. Well, I'd be happy to give it back to him."
The dragoman nodded. "Also. You know, when our people want to say time go by ... how you say? ... life goes on and no man can stop time or make much change in things, they speak of the jackal."
Rick looked at the guide with interest. He had been glad all through the long hours of Hassan's presence. The Sudanese had turned out to be an entertaining and thought-provoking companion. "Is it a saying of some kind?" he asked.
Hassan nodded. "The little jackal barks—but the caravan passes."
Rick repeated the expression thoughtfully. It said a great deal. "I'll remember that, Hassan."
There was something he had wanted to ask. "May I ask a personal question?"
The guide spread his hands expressively. "You hired a dragoman, but he has become your friend. Ask what you will."
"Thank you, Hassan. Scotty and I think of you as a friend, too. I wanted to ask about your English. You've been speaking very good English to me all day, but until we were captured, you spoke sort of broken English."
Hassan chuckled softly. "It is part of show I put on. My clients talk too simple English to me most of the time. They don't expect me to know good English. So I do not speak as well as I can. Now, with you and Scotty, it is different. My broken English is habit, so I continue to speak it until today. But I knew it would be different with you when we had coffee together, and when we laughed together. That was when I knew I could leave my show clothes at home and dress in a suit."
Rick laughed with him. "So that's why you wore fancy stuff only that first day. But, Hassan, if you can't read or write, how did you learn such good English?"
"I am like a parrot," Hassan replied. "I hear, and I repeat. For four years I was houseboy to an American family, from USIS, what you call the United States Information Service."
"They taught you English?" Rick prompted.
"I knew some, but we helped each other. I teached them Arab talk, and they correct me when I speak American."
Hassan launched into a recital of his years with the Americans, who had been transferred to India, but still wrote to him now and then. Rick listened with only part of his mind. For the most, his thoughts went back over ground he had covered before, since Youssef had dumped the two of them next to an ancient crypt.
The big question was, of course, what would happen to them?
As though in answer, the little jackal appeared silhouetted on top of the dune. He lifted his head to the full moon, and his voice rose in a prolonged, yapping howl. Then, as suddenly, he was gone again.
Rick gave an involuntary shiver. By the time Youssef returned, he would be in bad shape from thirst. He wondered how long he could hold out, and in the same instant wondered why he should. There was some real value attached to the cat. It was not manufacturing rights or sales, and it was not revenge. He was sure of that.
Youssef had said that he had no sentimental attachment to the cat. He had also said he disliked unnecessary violence. Rick wondered what the thief considered "unnecessary."
What else could he recall of Youssef's talk? He had said that the cat was not important, that it had elements of value to some people, and that he never lied. If one took his words at face value and believed him, then the cat itself was not important. What did that leave? Rick could see only one thing: that it was important only because itcontainedsomething. Youssef's words simply reinforced the conclusion he and Scotty already had reached.
"Elements of value to a few people," Youssef had said. That might mean only a few people knew what the cat contained. If you didn't know, it was only a plastic cat. If you did know what it contained ... well, Youssef knew, and he wanted the cat badly enough to risk a kidnaping.
Rick wondered where the cat was now. He had no idea of what had happened to Hassan's car. If it was left on the road and not searched, Scotty or someone from the project would recognize it. Scotty would certainly search the car, and he would find kitty. It was what Rick would do, and he and Scotty thought alike on many things.
Hassan finished his recital of a trip to the Valley of the Kings with his American employers and Rick took advantage of the lull to borrow a match. He lighted it and looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight.
Had Scotty met Kemel Moustafa at seven? Rick thought he probably had, and wondered what Third Brother's reaction to his mysterious disappearance had been. If Scotty had the cat, had he delivered it? Rick thought not. Scotty would keep the cat, for bargaining purposes.
He found himself yawning. "Hassan, when do you think Youssef will come back?"
"If he wants us alive and able to talk, maybe day after tomorrow. If not—la samah Allah!—maybe longer."
"What'sla samah Allah?" Rick stumbled over the pronunciation.
"God forbid," Hassan said grimly.
"Amen," Rick echoed.
He shifted position. "We'd better get some sleep. Should we go into the crypt or stay out here?"
The crypt was only a cubic chamber of rough stone, partly filled with drifting sand. Desert winds had been alternately covering and uncovering it for centuries.
"Stay out here until morning. Then we go in out of sun, like today. Youssef good to us. With no shelter from the sun, we would not last long."
"He's a fine fellow," Rick said without heat. "Good night, Hassan."
"Leltak s'aeeda, Rick. Good night to you."
The boy curled up in a ball, knees tucked into stomach, head resting on one arm. He covered up as much as possible with the short coat, squirmed until he had a depression for his hip in the sand, and closed his eyes.
On the nearby dune the little jackal peeked over the top at the two prone figures and sang his vast displeasure to the moon. From faraway a friend or relative joined in the serenade. It was the last thing Rick heard.
Hassan shook him. "Rick! Awaken, please! Camels coming."
Rick came back to reality from a dream of emptiness and loneliness in a darkened desert. The moon had set and false dawn was burning on the far horizon. He shook his head blearily. "What? Who's coming?"
"Not know. I woke and saw camels on the sky."
"In the east?"
"Yes. Against sky."
Rick shivered in the biting chill of early morning. He doubted that any legitimate travelers came this way. Youssef would not have left them near a caravan route. He could only guess that the thief himself was coming back, and he grew colder at the thought. Perhaps Youssef had decided not to wait to soften Rick up. On the other hand, there was a remote possibility he had the cat. If he was a thief with honor, he might simply be coming to take them back.
The idea seemed unlikely. Scotty wouldn't give up the cat, except in exchange for the two of them. If Youssef had found it himself, it was hours ago. He wouldn't have waited to search Hassan's car, if he had ever intended to search it.
An inner voice urged, "Tell him where the cat is. It's not your cat, and there's no reason to believe that Kemel Moustafa has any more right to what's inside of it than Youssef has."
But there was a deep streak of stubbornness in the Brants, which Rick had inherited. He knew he wouldn't give in until he absolutely had to. When that time came he would tell Youssef the truth, that he had hidden the cat in the Egyptian Museum. What he would not say was that the cat had been recovered and that he had left it in Hassan's car.
False dawn had faded. It was nearly black, except for myriad stars. Hassan lay with his ear to the ground. Rick held perfectly still and waited.
Finally Hassan sat up. "Close now," he whispered.
Rick wondered briefly if they shouldn't put up a fight, but he knew it would be useless. Youssef had too many men.
The camels appeared like wraiths from behind the dune, and Rick blinked trying to see more clearly.
There were three, and only one of them carried a rider. He waited tensely for the rest of the band to appear.
The camels arrived and Rick whispered urgently, "The rest must be behind. Jump him and we'll grab the camels and make a run for it."
Hassan tensed. "Yes. Be ready."
The camel rider came close, and lifted a hand in greeting. "Assalamo alaikum. Fil khedma, ya sidi. Ana gay men sidi Moustafa."
Rick was tensed to spring, to haul the man from his saddle, when Hassan put a hand on his arm. "Wait. He say greeting, he is at your service, and he come from Mr. Moustafa!"
Rick watched in unbelieving amazement as the driver forced his groaning camel to kneel, then immediately commanded the other two to kneel also. When the camel's protests had ceased, Hassan spoke to him rapidly. The man answered at length.
"He was with Youssef," Hassan said. "But he is also in the pay of Kemel Moustafa. Last night he went to Moustafa and told him about us. Moustafa sent him to bring us back."
Rick hesitated. Could they trust this man? But it was a silly question, because he knew he had no choice. Anything was better than sitting in the desert and waiting.
"Ask if he has water, then we'll go with him."
The man did, a full water bag. They drank sparingly, knowing the danger of too much water after deprivation. Then the three mounted the camels. Rick held onto the horn in front of him as the mount lurched protestingly to its feet, then they were going across the sands to the east at what seemed incredible speed. Ahead of them, the first flush of real dawn was visible.
The sun was high before they came within sight of the first man-made objects in the desert. Rick saw pyramids, but not those of Giza. He called to Hassan, who was riding his swaying mount like a veteran.
"What pyramids are those, Hassan?"
"Sakkarah," the dragoman replied. "We come back long way around."
To the east, then the south, Rick thought. He was by no means sure of what would be waiting, but at least he knew where he was. Sakkarah, a "must" for tourists, Bartouki had said. Well, he was getting there, even though he had taken the hard way.
On the road near Sakkarah a car was waiting, and in it was Kemel Moustafa. The cameleer made the mounts kneel. Rick and Hassan got off, and the man with the camels hurried away without a word. The two walked up to the car.
"Thank you for rescuing us," Rick said politely.
Moustafa had not spoken. Now he tugged at his mustache and nodded. "Whether it was worth while remains to be seen. According to my man, Youssef did not get the cat. This is correct?"
"Yes. Did you see my friend last night?"
"I did. Precisely at seven. He informed me that you were missing. Then, sometime later, my man managed to leave Youssef's gang and report in. I at once made plans for your rescue. Now tell me. Where is the cat?"
Rick was very, very tired of the Egyptian cat. He thought grimly that when he returned home he and his sister would have a long talk about volunteering services for strangers.
"The cat is under the back cushion of Hassan's car," he said tiredly. "And the sooner you take it off my hands, the better."
"Hassan's car is at the hotel," Moustafa said. "Come. We will go there at once."
Rick and Hassan climbed into the car and Moustafa raced the motor. He meshed gears and spun his wheels as he got off to a fast start.
He's certainly in a hurry to get that cat, Rick thought. Well, he was the legitimate receiver. Only it was too bad to let the animal go without ever knowing what it contained.
No matter, Rick thought, as the desert road sped underneath. No matter now. In a few minutes it will be finished.