The Cat Has Kittens
The sun blazed down on Sahara Wells. In the distance the pyramids looked
hazy, and beyond them Cairo was a thin line of green and brown along the
Nile. It was fairly warm in the sun, but a cool wind blew across the
desert and coats were comfortable.
Rick and Scotty sat on a box under the antenna while Hassan squatted and
watched them. For the moment there was nothing for them to do. The
scientists were occupied with calculations, and neither boy could make a
contribution to high mathematics of the kind used in radio astronomy.
Rick was glad of the break. His mind hadn't been on the job, anyway--it
had been on the Egyptian cat. For perhaps the hundredth time he asked,
"Why is the cat valuable? Why would anyone want it enough to stage that
scene at El Mouski and then ransack our room?"
Scotty had no answers, but he had some questions of his own. "What I
want to know is, did the hall porter just happen to step out at the
right moment for the thief? Or is he in the act somehow?"
"It really doesn't make much difference," Rick pointed out. "He might
have been paid to take a walk, but that doesn't mean he knows anything."
"Okay. Try this one. Where is the real Ali Moustafa?"
"Good question. Now I'll ask one. What do we do next?"
"You could cable Bartouki, or even phone him," Scotty replied. "You said
you had thought about it."
Rick hesitated. He tried to put his reluctance into words. "I just don't
think getting in touch with Bartouki is the right thing to do. I don't
know why. Call it a hunch."
Scotty had a deep respect for Rick's hunches. They had a way of turning
out to be right. He remembered a description of a hunch Rick had once
used and repeated it. "A hunch is only a conscious conclusion based on
subconscious data you don't know you have. Isn't that about it?"
Rick looked at him. "What are you driving at?"
"What data are buried in your subconscious that make you distrust
Bartouki?"
"I didn't say I mistrusted him."
Scotty shrugged. "No, but you must, if you don't think it's right to
call him."
Rick had to admit Scotty was probably right. What basis did he have for
mistrusting the charming little Egyptian merchant? Certainly Bartouki
had been nice to them, so carrying the cat to Egypt had been only common
courtesy.
Experience had shown Rick that very often he could get ideas from
reviewing conversations. He walked away from Hassan and Scotty and
stared at the construction details of the antenna. But he wasn't really
looking. 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. The Christmas mails ... that didn't seem like much
of a reason for not sending it by air freight. Bartouki could have
delivered it personally to Idlewild Terminal, to avoid getting it mixed
up with the domestic mail....
"I've got it!" he yelled. He hurried over and stood in front of Scotty
and Hassan. "Listen, who sends mail at Christmas time?"
Scotty's brows wrinkled. "Everyone, I guess."
"Not everyone." Rick warmed to his idea. "There are plenty of people who
wait until the last few days before Christmas, but where are they? In
America! Anyone overseas who sends a package home tries to get it in the
mail early. Wouldn't you say so?"
"Maybe they should, but I suspect they don't. People are always waiting
until the last moment."
"But is the overseas airmail so crowded you wouldn't trust a parcel to
the regular mail system?"
Scotty shook his head. "I doubt it. What are you getting at?"
But Rick had an even better argument to bolster the case he was
developing. "Christmas mail is to and from Christians, isn't it? Sure!
Egypt is a Moslem country. Moslems don't send Christmas cards or
presents, and they don't get them, either. The Christians in Egypt are
Coptic--anyway, they don't celebrate Christmas the same way. So why
would the airmail to Egypt be jammed?"
Hassan spoke up. "It not so heavy. My brother is letter carrier, and he
no work very hard on _Nasrani_ holiday. Nasrani is what we call
Christian."
"I think you've got something," Scotty agreed. "Bartouki could have
mailed the cat, but for some reason he wanted a messenger ..."
"... and we walked right into it," Rick finished. "Chances are that's
why he showed us the cat in the first place."
"Barby had the bright idea," Scotty reminded. "Bartouki wasn't the one
who suggested it."
"He didn't have to," Rick pointed out. "If she hadn't, I'll bet he would
have led around to it some other way."
Scotty held up his hands in surrender. "I'll buy it. Bartouki needed a
messenger. Why?"
Rick sat down on the box again. Why, indeed? He knew now why he
distrusted Bartouki, but he had no idea of the merchant's reasons. He
glared at his pal. "Kill-joy. So we get back to the basic question. What
does kitty have that people want?"
He took the statue from his pocket and examined it closely, as he had
done several times before. The bright sunlight disclosed nothing but a
perfect bit of casting. He took out the pocket lens he carried for
examination of specimens that might be useful in his hobby of
microscopy, but magnification showed him nothing. It was a flawless job.
"I'm stumped," he admitted. "Come on. Let's stretch our legs before we
get called back in to go to work."
Scotty and Hassan joined him as he walked toward the barracks where
cement was being poured to form the floor. Scotty borrowed the cat for a
quick look, then handed it back. Rick stowed it in his pocket.
"Whatever kitty's got, it's pretty interesting to some people," Scotty
commented. "Otherwise, why go to all the trouble of trying to get it in
the bazaar, then taking the risk of searching our room?"
Rick said what had been on his mind. "I have another happy thought for
you. If they really want the cat, they'll try again."
"Whoever 'they' are," Scotty agreed. "Let me add a cheery note of my own
while we're at it. They won't have to get the best detectives in the
world to figure out that you've got the creature, either. If it isn't in
the hotel room, it's on you."
Rick mulled that one over as they watched the workmen smoothing the
poured concrete in the form. Would it be better if he disposed of the
cat? But how could he? He couldn't leave it at the project, even though
it was locked at night. The lock wouldn't stop professional thieves. He
couldn't give the cat to one of the scientists, because that would
expose them to the thieves, too. He could have it put in the hotel
vault, but what assurance had he that it would be safe there? It
occurred to him that he would have entrusted his valuables to the hotel
vault with no hesitation, but the cat was different, somehow. He just
didn't want it out of his hands until he knew more about it.
Hassan said idly, "Cement color like cat."
Rick's thoughts snapped back to the scene before him. The dragoman was
right. The concrete mix had been colored to imitate sandstone,
apparently a part of the plan to make the architecture as Egyptian as
possible. There was enough of the mix in the form to make a thousand
cats, and more was being mixed in a portable cement mixer.
The Great Idea took shape in his mind, and suddenly he laughed outright.
"Kittens!" he exclaimed. "Wouldn't that throw them for a loop? I mean,
if several Egyptian cats showed up."
Scotty laughed with him. "It definitely would. We'll show 'em that it
doesn't pay to confuse us. Only how do we do it?"
Rick pointed to the office building where the plasterers were still at
work. "Make a plaster cast, then use the concrete mix for the models.
How about it?"
"Could work," Scotty said quickly. "Come on."
They rummaged around through the construction debris and found a pair of
small wooden boxes that had held instruments. With Hassan as
interpreter, Rick talked to the construction foreman and a plasterer was
detailed to help. If the form could be prepared right away, the low
desert humidity would harden it enough to use by the time they were
through work.
The wooden boxes were filled with soft plaster while Rick coated the
Egyptian cat with oil used to lubricate the antenna bearings. The cat
was pushed into one box until only half of it showed. The plasterer
smoothed the surface around the cat.
A sheet of scrap metal was used as a lid for the second box of plaster.
Working quickly, the plasterer turned it upside down and held it in
position while Scotty slipped the metal out of the way. The plasterer
pushed it down on the cat, losing only a little plaster in the process.
The little statue was now firmly embedded in plaster.
By the time the boys were summoned to the control room again, the
plaster was firm enough so the plasterer could run a thin wire between
the two boxes to start the process of separation. When the plaster was a
little harder, he would use the wire and a long knife to separate the
two halves completely.
The boys went to work, checking various elements under Winston's
direction. They kept at it until late afternoon. The sun was slanting
down behind the pyramids when they were told to knock off for the day.
They hurried to the plaster mold at once. Hassan was already there,
waiting, with the plasterer. The Sudanese guide pointed to a batch of
concrete in a wooden tub. "We mix, more dry than for the floor, so
easier to make cats. Now we start?"
"Any time," Rick said. "Thanks, Hassan." The resourceful dragoman had
realized the concrete mix being used for the floor was too liquid for
easy handling and had prepared a drier batch.
The plasterer went to work at once. He worked rapidly but skillfully,
using the wire and knife to cut through the plaster until he reached the
cat. Rick worried that he might cut or scratch the original, but the
Egyptian was deft. In a few moments he lifted the upper box and the cat
came to light, still gleaming from its coating of oil. Rick lifted it
out of its plaster bed. The two boxes now contained perfect half
impressions.
The boys, Hassan, and the workman shook hands all around. It was a job
well done. The rest was easy. Rick oiled the form while the plasterer
put the new concrete mix through a screen to remove lumps, then the two
halves were filled slightly overfull and put together. Pressure was
applied simply by standing on the upper box.
The workman lifted the upper box off with great care, disclosing a
perfect half-cat in fresh concrete. The dry mixture kept its shape, but
made great care necessary. The Egyptian workman held out both hands and
Hassan turned the bottom box over. Working gently, the plasterer
released the casting from the mold. It dropped into his hands. The boys
watched eagerly as he used his knife to trim the flashing from the cat
replica, then he wet his fingers from a bucket and smoothed out a few
rough spots. The man grinned with pleasure, and the boys grinned back.
"Perfect," Scotty said.
Rick added, "If I didn't know its mother personally, I'd think this was
it."
The first kitten was put gently aside to dry while others were cast. The
next two castings broke, but three perfect kittens resulted from six
tries.
Rick was satisfied. "By tomorrow they'll be hard," he said with a grin.
"Then we'll work out a cat distribution program. I may go back to El
Mouski and hand one to the phony Ali Moustafa, just to see what
happens."
"Not while I'm healthy enough to stop you," Scotty said positively. Then
he grinned, too. "But there's nothing more fun than kittens, and we'll
have plenty of laughs with these. You wait and see!"