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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.
Rick searched his memory for incantations to Egyptian gods, but there had been none in the books Bartouki had given them, although the gods had been described. He improvised quickly. "Then how's this?" He took a pinch of sugar from the bowl and sprinkled it on Scotty's head as an offering to the gods, then bowed like a high priest and chanted: "Anubis, Horus, Amon-Ré, Are you near or far away?
Any sign of real danger to you and they'd have bailed you out fast. But we were holding off, because I had a radio message that Kemel was on his way with a gang of his own." "You certainly had things taped," Scotty said admiringly. "I guess we ought to be mad. But you'd have an equal right to get mad because we tried to go it alone." "We'll call it square," Ben agreed. "About Bartouki.
Bartouki asks if you will please join him in the salon. It is straight ahead." As they walked down the carpeted hall Barby gave Winston a smile of sheer delight. "He's right out of a movie," she whispered. "Even to the fez and the scars on his cheeks." Winston smiled back. "In Egypt a fez is called a tarboosh. The scars mean he is a Sudanese, from the country south of Egypt.
Why didn't you put Kemel in jail, too? And how about Bartouki?" "We had no evidence that would stand up in court against Kemel, although we were convinced he was in the act with his brothers. That's why I waited until he tried to take the cat by force." Rick exploded, "You used us and the cat for bait!" "It worked," Ben pointed out mildly.
Instead, he was trying to recall the entire scene leading up to his acceptance of the cat. Bartouki had explained its importance. He had said it was needed. Now, what had led Barby to offer Rick's services as a messenger? The merchant had said that he was anxious to get it to Egypt, but that the Christmas mails were crowded.
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.
Brant from America, I have been expecting you. Bartouki said you would deliver a package. Is it the one under your arm perhaps?" Rick didn't like this at all. Even if the description had been exaggerated in some respects, this cold conversation was scarcely a cordial welcome. Yet, the man knew about the cat, and about Bartouki. Something was wrong.
"Mostly, they are people who had things pretty much their own way before the Republic was formed. They used to get special treatment from government officials who were in their pay, and they grew rich. Now, that's impossible. So they plot revolution to bring the bad old days back again bad old days for most Egyptians, that is. The Moustafas and Bartouki used to be pretty powerful.
He was dressed in an ordinary business suit. "My dear Dr. Winston, how nice of you to come. And these are your young friends?" Winston introduced the young people. Rick found his hand captured in a warm, firm grip. "Welcome, welcome," Bartouki said, beaming.
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