The Egyptian Cat Mystery by Harold Leland Goodwin (black authors fiction .TXT) 📖

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 the Lost and Found desk, 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!

CHAPTER XIV The Broad Sahara

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