Ha.s.san led the way to the center of the side. High above their heads, he pointed to a hole. "Up there."

The three climbed through tumbled blocks to the opening and paused to look around. This was not the opening the Pharaoh had intended. It had been made by thieves, centuries ago. By boring downward at an angle, they had intercepted the inner pa.s.sageways that led to the buried king and his treasure.

Electric lights were strung along the corridor at intervals, but the pa.s.sage was far from bright. Ha.s.san led the way, with Rick following and Scotty bringing up the rear.

Scotty's voice reverberated in the stone pa.s.sageway. "I've been thinking that you ought to be just about overcome with happiness. Two mysteries on your hands, one detective type and one scientific type, and now you're walking into the middle of a few million tons of rock. How full can life get?"

Rick grinned. "And you're not happy at all. Just came along for the ride, I suppose?"

"Oh, I'm happy. But I'm a simple soul. One mystery at a time and plenty of chow is all I need."

They left the tunnel cut by the thieves and found themselves in a broad concourse with high ceiling and walls that still held the remnants of ancient decorations. Rick's vivid imagination could picture the scene as it must once have been, with torches lighting the route as the mighty Khufu was carried by richly clad slaves along this route to the inner crypt.

Ha.s.san pointed to where a side pa.s.sage led upward. "Room there. Queen buried, but nothing now. All gone. Thieves take."

This was the story of Egypt. Few tombs had been found intact. That was why finding Tut-Ankh-Amon had been of such importance. Most of the burial places of the Pharaohs had been found and looted many centuries ago. One such tomb would make a band of thieves and their descendants rich. But while the thieves had grown fat, history had suffered. Each rifled tomb meant quant.i.ties of historical materials lost forever.

Scotty held up a hand. "Someone coming."

"More tourist, maybe," Ha.s.san offered.

Rick looked around. In the echoing chamber it was hard to tell the direction from which the footsteps were coming, and whether it was one person or many. Ha.s.san was probably right, he thought. It was late enough in the day for tourists to be arriving.

And on the heels of the thought, Arabs erupted from the entrance through which they had come!

There was less than a second of doubt. The men were after them! Rick saw Scotty crouch as an Arab charged, saw the Arab go headlong through the air as Scotty caught him in a judo throw. Then Rick and Ha.s.san were fighting for their lives!

An Arab rushed at Rick, arms widespread, and the boy stepped between the arms and threw a short punch that caught the attacker squarely on the nose. Blood spurted and he let out an anguished yell, then Rick put a foot in his stomach and heaved. The man flew backward, arms flailing, and landed on top of one who was grappling with Ha.s.san. The guide took advantage of the break to grasp his second a.s.sailant around the middle and dump him. The guide kicked expertly and the Arab lay still.

Scotty was backing away from two of them when Rick charged to the rescue. He hit one from behind, his shoulder taking the man at the knees. The Arab slammed forward. Scotty jumped in and grabbed his second attacker by the burnoose, then fell backward with him and flipped. The Arab flew through the air like an ungainly bird and slammed into the farther wall.

Rick choked back a yell of despair as three more Arabs charged through the pa.s.sageway. They were hopelessly outnumbered now. He saw Ha.s.san with an Arab's throat between his hands, and he saw another attacker coming up on the guide from behind, a knife in his hand.

There wasn't time to reach Ha.s.san. Rick had only one weapon. He plucked the concrete kitten from his pocket and threw, his whole body giving the flying statue speed and direction. It caught the knife wielder where his headdress met his ear. He dropped as though hit with an ax. The kitten fell to the stone floor and shattered.

Three Arabs. .h.i.t Scotty at the same time. Rick dove headlong into the fray and got his hands around a stubble-covered face. He put a knee in the man's back and wrenched, but the Arab turned like a cat and reached for his throat.

A voice yelled in Arabic. Miraculously, the Arabs fell back. As Rick and Scotty got to their feet they saw the burnoosed figures raise hands high.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

At the pa.s.sage entrance was a man in Western dress, an Egyptian with a bristling mustache and a tremendous nose. He was obviously a person of authority, and the authority was made plain by the Luger automatic pistol he held in his hand.

The Arabs crowded together, hands high. Then, at another sharply spoken Arabic phrase, they all lay face down on the floor, arms stretched out before them.

At that moment the newcomer's eyes caught sight of the broken kitten on the stone floor. He stiffened, and he took a step toward it. Then he reconsidered.

"Mr. Brant, or Mr. Scott," he commanded. "One of you only. Bring me the pieces of the cat!"

CHAPTER XI

Third Brother Smiles

Rick was nearest to the broken kitten. He went over and picked up three large pieces. There were a few smaller ones, but he didn't think they would matter. He walked over and held the pieces out.

The man with the pistol took one and examined it. Rick noted that it was the biggest piece, actually over half the cat.

Suddenly the man smiled. It was a fine, happy smile that showed white teeth under his black mustache.

"A fine specimen," he said. "Where did you get it?"

"It just sort of came to us," Rick evaded.

"Indeed? A pity it was broken. Do you want the pieces?"

This surprised Rick. He stared into the smiling brown eyes. "No. Don't you?"

"I have a definite interest in cats, but not in this one. Come, shall we go to the outside? I think you have probably had enough of Khufu's tomb by this time, eh?"

The pistol motioned to the outstretched Arabs. "This carrion will not bother us. I told them the first man to step outside the pyramid before an hour has elapsed would be shot."

To Rick's astonishment the man tucked the pistol into a capacious jacket pocket, then turned and walked toward the outer entrance. Rick, Scotty, and Ha.s.san followed.

In a few moments they stood blinking in the sunlight. Their rescuer gave them a polite bow. "You are probably wondering who I am, and how I appeared so opportunely, eh? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kemel Moustafa."

The brother of Ali and Fuad! Rick remembered the words of the hotel intruder who had taken the first kitten: The Moustafas were known for the largest mustaches and noses in the United Arab Republic. Well, the description fitted.

"I'm Rick Brant," he said. "This is Don Scott, and our guide, Ha.s.san."

Kemel Moustafa shook hands all around. "I am thirsty," he announced. "We will exchange stories over coffee, eh? The Mena House is close by, and I have a car."

"So do we," Rick said. "We came in Ha.s.san's car."

"Then let us drive down in our separate cars and meet there. We have much to talk over."

That was an understatement, Rick thought. He wondered as Ha.s.san drove them to the hotel below the pyramids: had the business in the pyramid been staged so Kemel could come to the rescue? If not, that meant two different groups were interested in the cat.

The way Kemel Moustafa had looked at the broken kitten was revealing, too. One glance and he had rejected it. How had he known? He put the question aloud to Scotty.

"Maybe it didn't break like plastic," Scotty guessed. "Or, it's possible the original is unbreakable."

Rick didn't think either of those answers could be the right one. "Could there be something inside the cat? Kernel would have seen right away that the broken one was solid."

"There's a hunk of lead in the cat, according to Bartouki. But suppose you're right, and it isn't lead? What could be valuable enough to cause all these wild goings-on?"