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Updated: May 11, 2025
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.
"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.
It is rough. The Green Bay Packers is the name of a famous professional football team." "One thing is for sure," Scotty offered. "The clerks didn't know football. That flat pass you threw was good for plenty of yardage." "It made a touchdown," Rick pointed out. He changed the subject. "Look, what went on in that store, anyway? I don't know who the big man was, but he wasn't Ali Moustafa.
"At your service," he said. Rick didn't know what to say. Bartouki had described a huge, jolly fat man, like Santa Claus without a beard. This man was big, but not huge, not fat, and definitely not jolly. For a moment Rick hesitated, then asked, "Is there another Ali Moustafa in the bazaar?" The black eyes locked with his. "There is no other. I am the only Ali Moustafa. And you? If you are Mr.
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."
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.
He thought of Kemel Moustafa the revolutionary, the only one of the three brothers they had met and he thought of Hassan's saying. He added, "The little jackal barks, but the caravan passes." Hakim Farid laughed outright. "We'll make a good Egyptian of you yet, Rick." The time along the Greenwich meridian, from which all world times are measured, was 9:30 P.M.
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.
"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 had compared notes with Scotty on what Bartouki had told them. Clearly, something was pretty strange about the whole affair. It was simply inconceivable that Bartouki would have given an inaccurate description of Ali Moustafa, so the man in the store had not been Bartouki's partner. Yet, he had known about the cat, and had called Rick by name. Who was he? And where was the real Ali Moustafa?
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