The Mummy Case (12 page)

“To Luxor!”

Frank and Joe stared in surprise, but said nothing. They were sitting in the rear by themselves and watched the plane take off, flying upstream along the Nile. They saw the river cutting through the desert creating a ribbon of green where the land was irrigated. Beyond the cultivated fields, sand and stone stretched to the horizon on either side.

The engine was noisy, and Frank felt safe enough to talk to his brother. “This is a hairy situation,” he whispered. “These guys are a bunch of thieves, and we have no idea where they're taking us and for what purpose!”

Joe nodded. “Now I'm sure Ali tried to steal that dagger in the museum when the alarm went off. But how could he possibly have removed the mummy on the ship?”

“Beats me!”

“Hardys, stop whispering back there!” Londy commanded.

With a shrug, Frank and Joe fell silent. The plane flew up the Nile and landed in a desolate part of the desert. Everybody got out except the pilot, who said he had to get back to Cairo.

Minutes later a small battered bus trundled up the road. Its fenders were dented, the tires were worn smooth, and the engine backfired even worse than Chet Morton's jalopy.

“That model must date from the year one,” Frank said.

“King Tut rode in it,” Joe grumbled.

“That'll do for you guys!” Londy snarled. “Get in. And sit in the middle where we can keep an eye on you. Don't try any funny business or we'll toss you into the river!”

The Hardys climbed into their seats. Two members of the gang were behind them, while the rest sat up ahead, guarding the front door of the bus.

The driver started the vehicle and drove back along the desert road, the surface of which was stone overlaid with sand. Frank and Joe watched a landscape of small hills, valleys, and gulches glide by. Night was falling, and the panorama outside became an eerie pattern of objects and their shadows.

Frank had noticed earlier that he was sitting next to the emergency exit. According to the posted instructions, it could be opened by thrusting a metal bar to one side and pushing the window outward. Frank had an idea. Surreptitiously he elbowed Joe and gestured toward the exit. Then he looked down at his hands. His brother caught on at once. Both held their hands in their laps and began to communicate by sign language.

When Frank finished telling Joe his plan, he leaped to his feet, levered the bar aside, and kicked the emergency exit open. At the same time, Joe pulled out the pencil-shaped tear gas gun that he had found in the boat going through the Tunnel of Horrors.

The men in front and behind the boys had jumped up and were rushing toward them, only to be hit by sprays from Joe's tear gas gun. They retreated, gasping and choking for air. Coughing violently, they turned away from the boys, clutched their throats, and rubbed their tearing eyes.

The bus driver was startled by the commotion behind him. He slowed the vehicle and looked over his shoulder to see what it was all about. At that moment, Frank and Joe leaped through the emergency exit. Luckily they cleared the road and fell into the soft sand beside it. They somersaulted forward head over heels to break the force of the momentum, then managed to get up on their feet unhurt.

“Come on!” Frank hissed. “We've got to get away from here pronto!”

While they hurried off in the darkness, the bus driver managed to come to a stop about a hundred yards further down the road. Angrily he shifted into reverse gear and careened back at top speed. As he hit the brakes, the gang piled out of the bus, shouting frantically.

“Where did they go?” Londy yelled.

“It's too dark to see!” the Egyptian shopkeeper replied.

“Well, spread out and search for them!” Londy bellowed. “They can't be far. Maybe we'll get lucky and find one of them broke a leg when they jumped.”

The Hardys had run up a shallow valley between two hills and heard the gang calling out behind them.

“We've got to shake them!” Joe panted.

“That means we'll have to get out of this valley,” Frank responded. “It's the obvious route for anyone to take.”

The Hardys cut to the side over one of the hills. When they crossed the crest, they were silhouetted against a rising moon.

“There they are!” Londy cried. “After them!”

Frank and Joe dashed down the hill and circled the base in the direction of the bus. They came to a gulch where a stream had once cut a narrow tunnel through a sandstone cliff. Quickly they ducked into the tunnel and lay prone, panting from their run and hoping they would not be discovered.

They heard the gang coming down the hill. “I hope they don't guess we doubled back toward the bus,” Frank thought.

As if in reply, Londy shouted, “They wouldn't run to the bus! Go the other way!”

Frank sighed with relief. “Let's check the bus,” he said to Joe. “Maybe the driver left the key inside.”

When they reached the vehicle, however, their hopes were shattered. The key was not in the ignition. Apparently the driver had taken it along.

“Let's run back to our hiding place,” Joe urged. “We'll have to get out of here before those creeps come back.”

In a flash, the Hardys jumped down the steps and ran to the tunnel with only seconds to spare before the gang trooped back.

“How do I explain that the Hardys got away? Londy complained. ”Ali isn't gonna like it!“

He was still grumbling as he and the others passed just above the tunnel where the boys lay hidden. A little while later Frank and Joe heard the bus start, then the sound of its motor died away as the gang drove down the road.

The young detectives crawled out of their hiding place. “Lucky they didn't have a bloodhound,” Joe commented, “or they'd have found us for sure.”

Frank nodded. “Question is, where do we go from here?”

Since they had no idea where they were, they decided to follow the desert road.

“We can hitchhike if a car comes along,” Joe observed.

“Crank up your thumb,” said Frank, who had noticed lights in the distance. “There's one!”

They stood by the side of the road, each holding out his arm. A Western-make car materialized out of the darkness. Its headlights picked up the Hardys standing in the classic hitchhiking stance. The driver stared at them, but whipped past without slowing down.

Joe dropped his arm. “How do you like that?” he complained. “You'd think the guy could have given us a ride.”

Frank chuckled. “Well, I guess it's legmobile for us.”

They spent the night walking and resting in between. There was no sign of life around them, and they were cold and hungry. As soon as the sun rose, however, it became unbearably hot and their mouths felt parched and dry.

Frank fought back a wave of panic. Would they ever make it to the next town? It could be another twenty or thirty miles away!

Joe was dragging his feet and finally came to a halt. “I—I don't think I can go much further,” he said hoarsely.

“Let's rest awhile,” Frank agreed. “Right after we go around that next bend, okay?”

Joe nodded wearily. When they rounded the corner, a glimmer of water became visible.

“The Nile!” Frank cried out in relief.

Despite their exhausted state, they broke into a run and tumbled down the riverbank. Eagerly they threw themselves on their stomachs and drank the cooling water in large gulps.

After that, they lay back, recuperating and staring up into the cloudless blue of the Egyptian sky.

Finally Joe stood up. “I crave food,” he stated. “And over there are a bunch of houses. Must be a little village downstream. Maybe we can get something to eat and rest for a few hours.”

“I sure hope so,” Frank declared emphatically.

When they reached the village, they found nobody who could speak English. But they managed to make their meaning clear in sign language and obtained a meal and the use of two cots in a private house that served as the village inn.

Sometime later they awoke, more or less refreshed. Trying to find out where they were, Joe spoke the word
Luxor
to the innkeeper, who pointed down the Nile and raised three fingers.

“He must mean three kilometers,” Frank interpreted. “Less than three miles.”

They started to walk alongside the river. At one point they looked back and noticed a sail billowing in the wind on the Nile. Others appeared strung out behind it. A number of wide-bodied boats with triangular canvas sails on slim, towering masts came into view. Each boat was steered by a single man and was loaded with barrels of grain and oil drums.

The Hardys stopped to watch the procession.

“They sure know how to sail against the current,” Joe said admiringly. “And the wind. It's the sail that does it.”

“And practice, too,” Frank added. “The Egyptians have had a lot of practice. They've been doing this for centuries.”

The boys saw the boats disappear, then continued their hike in the direction of Luxor.

Suddenly the soft loam of the riverbank crumbled under Joe's foot. He lost his balance and tumbled into the water!

“This is a great time for a swim,” Frank kidded him.

Joe tried to scramble up the bank, but the slippery mud made him fall back. He thrashed around, trying to hold his footing.

Suddenly, a long, dark form appeared behind him. It moved toward the boy, rippling the surface as it came closer.

Frank turned pale. “Joe!” he cried. “It's a crocodile! It's coming after you!”

Frantically Joe struggled for a toehold that would enable him to climb up the bank to safety. Too late! The long black form closed in on him. Horrified, Frank expected the crocodile to open its jaws and crunch Joe between them!

Joe felt a bump. He looked down into the water and broke out laughing. “Your croc is a floating log!” he announced. Using it to steady himself, he eased out of the river and onto the bank. He sat down, emptied water out of his shoes, and squeezed as much as he could from his clothing.

“Sorry for the scare I gave you,” Frank apologized. “I know crocs don't usually come this far down anymore. But I thought this one might have rambled past the High Dam at Aswan by mistake!”

“That's okay,” Joe replied. “But I think we ought to walk along the road from now on.”

The boys scrambled up the riverbank and soon came to a sign in Arabic with the word Luxor in Western lettering underneath. They continued to the edge of a modern town built at the site of ancient ruins.

Frank hesitated. “The gang might be around here looking for us. Let's disguise ourselves.”

“There's a place that sells native clothing,” Joe said, pointing to a fez in a small store window.

“That's what I had in mind.”

Joe grinned and pulled out his wallet. “Maybe I can get rid of some of my soggy money here!”

The boys went into the shop and emerged ten minutes later wearing voluminous gowns over their Western clothes and headdresses with bands of cloth falling to their shoulders. By drawing the cloth together with one hand, they could cover their faces.

Joe took a few long strides. “It's tough to move in this getup,” he declared. “How do the Egyptians do it?”

“I guess it takes practice,” Frank replied. “Don't give up.”

After walking for a few hundred yards, they settled into an easy gait indistinguishable from that of the Egyptians they passed. They followed the crowds in one particular direction—to the ruins of an ancient building marked by four statues, two standing and two sitting.

A bus disgorged about twenty tourists led by a native guide. Frank and Joe were just about to walk past them, when they noticed Ahmed Ali among the visitors!

Instantly, they pulled their headdresses across their faces.

“Let's stay with this group and see where they go,” Frank whispered.

The tourists gathered around the guide, who began to describe the surroundings. “These statues are of the Pharaoh Ramses the Second, who lived more than three thousand years ago. Follow me and we will see more.”

The boys tagged along through Luxor as the guide pointed out the rest of the ruins. At the end, he told the tourists to return to their bus. “We will now go to see the Temple of Karnak. It is a mile from here along the Road of the Rams. Or rather, what remains of the Road of the Rams.”

“Let's go to the temple, too,” Joe whispered to Frank. “Think we can get away with boarding the bus?”

“The guide would spot us,” Frank replied. “Every tourist guide knows how many people are supposed to be in his group. But it's only a mile. We can walk and catch up with them later.”

Frank and Joe were able to find their way to the ruins of the Temple of Karnak. Its rows of massive columns towered high in the air.

The guide was in the middle of his talk when the boys arrived. They paid no attention to his lecture. Instead, they looked for Ahmed Ali and watched him closely until the guide announced that the group now had a half-hour to wander through the area on their own.

The tourists dispersed, and Frank and Joe shadowed Ali, who walked slowly around the temple. Behind a column with part of a wall attached, a man was waiting for him.
Butch Londy!

Carefully, the Hardys sneaked around the pillar to a point where they could listen to the men's conversation.

When Ali heard that the boys had escaped, he was furious. “You should have watched them better!” he hissed. “They are extremely dangerous to us!”