could also serve as rearview mirrors."

"I may write an article on this for the Journal of the Optical Society,"
Scotty said. "Works fine. Our buddy is a Sudanese, from the looks of
him. Also, he has a comrade. A big, sloppy type in a black coat and a
tarboosh. I'd hate to tangle with either of them."

Rick thought of Scotty's comment that it wouldn't take much of a
detective to realize he had the cat on him.

Scotty added, "Some distance behind are two other types, in tarbooshes.
They're striding along at the same pace we are, and keeping their
distance. I'm flattered. Looks as if 'they' figured it would take four
to handle us."

"Maybe they sent one for us and three for the cat," Rick said hopefully.
"Cats are good scrappers. Any bright ideas, ol' chum?"

"Yep. Let's go to the museum. They can't touch us in a public place. Got
the map?"

They consulted it, letting the trailers see what was going on. The
street they were on formed one side of a triangle, with its apex at the
square in front of the museum. The next left turn, and another left a
block farther on, would bring them to the front of the museum through
Gami Sharkas and Shampelion streets.

Rick wondered if the latter was the Arab-English equivalent of the name
of the man who had translated the hieroglyphics on the famous Rosetta
stone and is considered the father of Egyptology. He knew from his study
of cryptography that the first man to read the strange Egyptian written
language was Jean Francois Champollion. Or maybe the map maker had made
a mistake by misspelling the name. He looked for a street sign in
English when they reached the street, but he saw none.

He had to grin to himself at the strange turns his mind sometimes took.
He should be concentrating on a plan of escape, not wondering about a
strange spelling of a Frenchman's name. "See anything?" he asked Scotty.

"They're still with us. All four."

"Probably the second pair is in case the first pair loses us," Rick
guessed. "Let's keep out of deserted alleys. They must be just waiting
for an opportunity to grab us."

"I hear you talking," Scotty agreed. "And I believe every Brantish word
of it."

They turned into the museum grounds, waving off guides who came running.
Normally, they might have hired a museum guide, but they were suspicious
now of all strangers.

Rick produced some piastres and paid their entrance fee. He noticed a
sign at the window that said all parcels must be che