"Shall we eat?" Rick asked as they approached the hotel.

"Let's have a sandwich sent up," Scotty suggested. "I don't feel like waiting in a dining room, even if one is open this late."

"Good idea." Rick leaned forward and told Ha.s.san, "Just drop us off, then go on home and get some rest."

"Not tired," Ha.s.san said cheerfully. "You work, I rest."

They certainly were not working Ha.s.san very hard, Rick agreed. But he was pleasant to have around. They bade him good night in front of the hotel and went for their room key. The clerk handed Rick an envelope along with it. It was addressed to Mr. R. Brant, care of the hotel, and the return address was in Arabic.

Rick waited until they were in their room to open it. A quick glance showed that the room had not been searched, or if it had, with greater care than the last time. He ripped open the envelope and took out a sheet of paper, the letterhead printed in Arabic except for the name Fuad Moustafa.

"Fuad Moustafa," he said aloud. "Any relation to Ali, I wonder?"

"Read it," Scotty urged.

Rick did so. "'Dear Sir: You have brought to Cairo, I believe, a plastic replica of a cat, which was given to you by Mr. Bartouki for delivery to my brother, Ali. I deeply regret the inconvenience caused by your failure to find my brother in his shop. Only today did I learn that his chief clerk, an officious person, had attempted to take delivery of the cat by pretending to be my brother. The clerk shall be discharged for this offensive behavior.

"'Since my brother is absent from the city, on business to Beirut, which was the reason for his absence from the shop, I shall be delighted to serve in his stead. If you will call me, I shall come at your convenience. Or, if you will do me the honor of breaking bread at my home, I shall be at your service. Since my home is also my office, any time that is convenient for you will be my pleasure. Sincerely, Fuad Moustafa.'"

Rick jumped for the phone and called the desk, "See if Ha.s.san is still around, please. Tell him to wait, if he is."

The clerk asked him to wait and Rick put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Scotty. "The first sensible suggestion we've had. Let's go call on Fuad Moustafa. If there are lights, we'll pay him a visit. If not, we'll come back. I'm anxious to get this settled."

"So am I," Scotty agreed, then added, "Only let's be sure this isn't a trap."

The clerk came back on the line. "Ha.s.san is here. He will wait."

"Thank you. Now, can you tell me anything about a Mr. Fuad Moustafa? Do you know him?"

"Indeed, sir. He is a lawyer, from a well-known family. He has two brothers who are also well known. One is Ali, who has a shop in El Mouski, and the other is Kemel, who is a textile importer."

Rick thanked him and hung up. "It's our boy," he said. He repeated what the clerk had told him.

"Sounds like pay dirt," Scotty agreed. "Only we'll still be careful.

Let's go."

Rick echoed him. "Let's go! If this is on the level, we can get the cat in the morning and deliver it." At last, the secret of the Egyptian cat might be unraveled!

CHAPTER IX

The Uninvited Visitor

As the boys hurried through the lobby the night clerk came to meet them.

"I noticed that the name of Mr. Moustafa was on the message I gave you.

If you intend to visit him, you will have no trouble. His house is also his office, and it is very well known. Just tell Ha.s.san to take you to Abd El Aziz Street."

The boys thanked him, somewhat relieved that Fuad Moustafa apparently was so well known. Outside, Ha.s.san was waiting. "Not so tired?" he greeted them.

"Not too tired for a short trip," Rick said. "Can you take us to Abd El Aziz Street?"

"Not far. Near El Mouski."

As Ha.s.san drove off, at the usual high velocity, Rick asked, "Do you know Fuad Moustafa?"

"Hear name," Ha.s.san 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 started to hand the letter to Ha.s.san, then remembered the dragoman could not read. He puzzled over the Arabic in the letterhead, realizing the address must be given there. If he could identify the numbers ... there, he recognized one. Both boys had spent some time studying the telephone dial at the project, on which the numbers were in Arabic. It was easy to identify them, and Rick had spotted the five, a figure like a tiny heart, upside down.

"I think I have it," he said. "Let's see. Arabic reads from right to left, instead of the way we write. That makes this number ... hmmmm ...

a heart, a dot, and two sevens backward with one squiggle in the upper line. The heart is a five, the dot a zero, and backward sevens with one squiggle are twos. So the number is 5022. Right?"

"That's the way I remember it," Scotty said. "So that's the number.

_Enshallah._"

Ha.s.san started laughing in the front seat. "Now you speak Arabic? You must say _a'eraf shwayet 'arabi_."

"What does that mean?" Scotty demanded.

"It mean 'I know some Arabic'"

The boys laughed with him. In a few moments Ha.s.san swung the little car to the curb and pointed to the nearest building. "There 5022."

Rick started to get out, then he asked curiously, "How do you know, Ha.s.san? I thought you couldn't read."

"No can read words. Read numbers plenty good. Could not take people to places if could not read numbers."

That made sense, Rick thought.

Scotty let out a sudden exclamation. "Hey, this is a barbershop, and it's closed for the night."

Rick looked, then switched on the dome light. He compared the letterhead number and the number on the door. Clearly, it was 5022, unless they had mistaken threes for twos. The only difference between the two numbers was an extra squiggle in the upper line of the three. He checked the letter again. No, they were twos. He said so. "This is the number on the letter."

"You let me see, please?" Ha.s.san asked.

"Sure, Ha.s.san."

The dragoman took the letter and examined it. He chuckled. "_Samehni, ya sidi._ That mean excuse, sir. Small mistake. You reading backward.

Number is 2205."

"But how can that be?" Rick asked. "Arabic goes backward from English."

"Maybe so with words," Ha.s.san said. "But numbers not so. This number is 2205. You want to go?"