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 alsohis office, and it is very well known. Just tell Hassan to take you toAbd El Aziz Street."
The boys thanked him, somewhat relieved that Fuad Moustafa apparentlywas so well known. Outside, Hassan was waiting. "Not so tired?" hegreeted them.
"Not too tired for a short trip," Rick said. "Can you take us to Abd ElAziz Street?"
"Not far. Near El Mouski."
As Hassan drove off, at the usual high velocity, Rick asked, "Do youknow 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, andscanned it. There was no address given in English. He started to handthe letter to Hassan, then remembered the dragoman could not read. Hepuzzled over the Arabic in the letterhead, realizing the address must begiven there. If he could identify the numbers ... there, he recognizedone. Both boys had spent some time studying the telephone dial at theproject, on which the numbers were in Arabic. It was easy to identifythem, and Rick had spotted the five, a figure like a tiny heart, upsidedown.
"I think I have it," he said. "Let's see. Arabic reads from right toleft, instead of the way we write. That makes this number ... hmmmm ...a heart, a dot, and two sevens backward with one squiggle in the upperline. The heart is a five, the dot a zero, and backward sevens with onesquiggle are twos. So the number is 5022. Right?"
"That's the way I remember it," Scotty said. "So that's the number._Enshallah._"
Hassan started laughing in the front seat. "Now you speak Arabic? Youmust 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 Hassan swung the little carto the curb and pointed to the nearest building. "There 5022."
Rick started to get out, then he asked curiously, "How do you know,Hassan? I thought you couldn't read."
"No can read words. Read numbers plenty good. Could not take people toplaces if could not read numbers."
That made sense, Rick thought.
Scotty let out a sudden exclamation. "Hey, this is a barbershop, andit's closed for the night."
Rick looked, then switched on the dome light. He compared the letterheadnumber and the number on the door. Clearly, it was 5022, unless they hadmistaken threes for twos. The only difference between the two numberswas an extra squiggle in the upper line of the three. He checked theletter again. No, they were twos. He said so. "This is the number on theletter."
"You let me see, please?" Hassan asked.
"Sure, Hassan."
The dragoman took the letter and examined it. He chuckled. "_Samehni, yasidi._ 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," Hassan said. "But numbers not so. This number is2205. You want to go?"
Rick sighed. "I learn something new every day. Okay, Hassan. You're thedragoman."
The little car swung around and sped back the way they had come, into abetter part of the city. In a short time Hassan slowed and begansearching. At last he pulled to the curb, in front of a large house ofVictorian design. "Here is 2205," he announced.
The boys got out and saw immediately that the house was in darkness. Nota light shone anywhere.
"No one home," Rick said, disappointed.
Scotty surveyed the dark structure. "Funny. A house this size must haveservants. There should be a light somewhere. Maybe around back?"
"I doubt it, but we can take a look."
Hassan's voice stopped them. "Something wrong, I think."
"What do you mean?" Rick asked quickly.
Hassan gestured to where a small group of people had gathered on theother side of the street. "Why they stop? Not so strange for car come tohouse like this."
That was true, Rick thought. The people stood quietly, watching, and ina moment two others joined them. Their attitude was not simplecuriosity.
"Can you ask them what's up?" Scotty asked.
"Will try." Hassan took a step toward the group and called cheerfully inArabic. No one answered. He walked toward them, still talkingcheerfully, and the little group melted instantly into ordinary peoplewalking the street on their various errands by ones and twos.
Rick needed no interpreter for their actions. Rather than answer acourteous, cheerful question from Hassan they had hurried off, as thoughafraid of something. But what?
"Pretty strange, I think," Hassan said. "I just ask who can tell mewhere to find Fuad Moustafa, and they go."
Scotty had been staring at the house. He walked to the steps and staredinto the darkness, then went up them onto the porch. In a moment he camedown again.
"Something's very wrong," he said. "I thought I saw the gleam of metal,and I did. A brand-new padlock on the door! New hasp, too, put on in away no house owner would ever do it. It's as though someone was closinga barn door and didn't care how it looked."
A chill went down Rick's spine. Instead of a solution, they had found adeeper mystery. He was sure of only one thing for the present. Theyshould not wait at the house of Fuad Moustafa.
"Come on," he said. "Back to the hotel. If we can't have facts to feedon, we can at least have that sandwich."
But the sandwich was not to be had so easily. Back in their room, a callto the waiter brought the porter, who announced that all hotelfacilities were closed and the waiters had gone home. He would be gladto go to a restaurant he knew of and get them sandwiches, but it wouldtake a little time.
The boys ordered, then got undressed. Scotty went in to wash up whileRick wrote cards to the folks at home. A knock interrupted him. "Must bethe porter," he called to Scotty, and went to open the door.
A stranger stood there, a big man in an immaculate gray linen suit. Hewore thick eyeglasses with stainless-steel rims. On his curly hair was atarboosh of red velvet. In his hand was a gleaming, snub-nosedhammerless revolver, pointed at Rick's midriff.
_A snub-nosed revolver was pointed at Rick's midriff_]
"I know it's late," the man said pleasantly, "but may I come in?"
He walked through the door, and Rick backed away to make room.
"Are you Fuad Moustafa?" he asked shakily.
The man smiled. "I have not that honor. You have never seen a Moustafa,or you would not ask. They are famous for the biggest noses andmustaches in the Republic. I could have lied, but it is my pride that Inever lie. My identity is not important."
"What do you want?" Rick asked. He kept backing away, because he wanteddesperately for the man to follow. That would give Scotty a chance tomove in from behind.
"I think you know what I want. A small and unimportant piece of plastic,in the shape of a cat."
"Why is the cat so important?" Rick asked.
"It is not important. You may believe this. However, for reasons I shallnot disclose, it has certain elements of value to a few people."
"Sentimental value?" Rick asked. He was stalling.
"It depends on what one is sentimental about. I have no sentimentalattachment to this object. I merely want it. Now, my time is short. Iwas fortunate to find the porter gone, but he will doubtless return. Thecat, my young friend, and quickly!"
Scotty moved from the bathroom on silent, bare feet, and even as his palmoved, Rick saw the object in his hand. It was a nail file.
Scotty stepped close and his hand moved. The stranger stiffened.
"That's a knife in your back," Scotty said. "Drop the gun."
The revolver muzzle never faltered. "An interesting stalemate," the mansaid calmly. "You can thrust, but no matter how fast you are, I canshoot. So, if
I die, so does your friend. Now, since you created thissituation, how are you going to get out of it? Or did I create it,through my careless eagerness? I was so pleased to find the hall emptythat I forgot there were two of you."
"No matter," Scotty informed him. "We can stand like this until helpcomes."
"Then you expect someone. Make no mistake, I will not be taken. Ifnecessary, I will end the stalemate with a shot and take my chances withthe knife. It is even possible I will get both of you."
Rick was watching the man's face closely. He was not bluffing. There wasno sign of sweat or nervousness. He knew the situation exactly, and wasprepared to deal with it. The boy reached a decision.
"Drop it, Scotty," he commanded. "Pull back and come around so he cansee you. I'm going to give him the cat."
"Don't!" Scotty exclaimed. "Don't, Rick!"
"I'm going to give him the cat," Rick repeated. "It isn't worthbloodshed. Now co-operate, will you?"
Scotty drew back and walked around so the stranger could see him. With agesture of disgust he threw the nail file on one of the twin beds.
The stranger smiled his appreciation. "A very good try. It would haveworked, no doubt, on a less experienced man. Now, Mr. Brant, where isthe cat?"
"In my pocket, in the wardrobe."
The gun muzzle waved Scotty to the window at the far end of the room."Out of reach, if you please. I will cover Mr. Brant just to be sure itis not a weapon that he has in his pocket."
Scotty obeyed, scowling. Rick led the way to the wardrobe. Moving slowlyand carefully, he got the concrete kitten and held it up.
"Excellent. I see the hotel has provided you with a newspaper. Pleaseuse it to wrap the cat."
Rick did so, and handed it over.
"Thank you. I appreciate your co-operation, since I am a man who detestsunnecessary violence. You have acted wisely." He backed to the door,opened it, and closed it behind him.
Rick's eyes met Scotty's across the room, and both grinned widely, butthey said nothing in case the stranger had lingered outside the door.Not until a few moments had passed and Rick had checked the hallway didhe speak.
"Well," he said happily, "one orphan kitten has found a happy home!"