nt up them onto the porch. In a moment he came
down 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 a
way no house owner would ever do it. It's as though someone was closing
a barn door and didn't care how it looked."

A chill went down Rick's spine. Instead of a solution, they had found a
deeper mystery. He was sure of only one thing for the present. They
should not wait at the house of Fuad Moustafa.

"Come on," he said. "Back to the hotel. If we can't have facts to feed
on, we can at least have that sandwich."

But the sandwich was not to be had so easily. Back in their room, a call
to the waiter brought the porter, who announced that all hotel
facilities were closed and the waiters had gone home. He would be glad
to go to a restaurant he knew of and get them sandwiches, but it would
take a little time.

The boys ordered, then got undressed. Scotty went in to wash up while
Rick wrote cards to the folks at home. A knock interrupted him. "Must be
the porter," he called to Scotty, and went to open the door.

A stranger stood there, a big man in an immaculate gray linen suit. He
wore thick eyeglasses with stainless-steel rims. On his curly hair was a
tarboosh of red velvet. In his hand was a gleaming, snub-nosed
hammerless revolver, pointed at Rick's midriff.

[Illustration: _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 and
mustaches in the Republic. I could have lied, but it is my pride that I
never lie. My identity is not important."

"What do you want?" Rick asked. He kept backing away, because he wanted
desperately for the man to follow. That would give Scotty a chance to
move 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 shall
not 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 sentimental