The Egyptian Cat Mystery Part 19

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. Ha.s.san 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.

Ha.s.san 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 gla.s.ses.

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.

Ha.s.san 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. Ha.s.san 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Hands pulled Rick from the saddle_]

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 Ha.s.san 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 Ha.s.san. "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."