The Egyptian Cat Mystery

The date was December twenty-third. The time along the Greenwich meridian, from which all world times are measured, was 8:15 P.M. At widely scattered points around the globe, four voices were raised simultaneously.

Even an experienced observer could not have found a connection between the four voices and what they were saying, yet each voice started actions that would soon be interwoven into a single pattern—a pattern of danger, adventure, and mystery that would culminate in sudden violence within sight of one of the seven wonders of the world.

In Chicago, it was 2:15 in the afternoon. At the edge of the city, a man spoke into the telephone in the office of a small plastics factory. “The cat is ready,” he said.

In Paris, a phone rang. The man who answered noted in the log that his overseas call had gone through at exactly 9:15 p.m. He picked up the phone and spoke crisply. “Monsieur l’Inspecteur? … Bien. This is Interpol. We have a relay for you from the United States. Monsieur, this will please you—and it most certainly will amaze you. Message begins…”

In Cairo, the time was 10:15 P.M. A famous Egyptian astronomer walked into his office and called his associate. “Hakim! Good news. He can come. Now we can find out what that accursed hydrogen-line impulse means.”

On Spindrift Island, off the coast of New Jersey, it was 3:15 in the afternoon. The island was quiet under a blanket of snow. The long, gray laboratory buildings, where so many dramatic scientific developments had taken place, were deserted. Only in the homes of the scientists was there activity, and all of it was in preparation for Christmas.

In the big main house on the seaward side of the island, Dr. Hartson Brant, director of the world-famous Spindrift Scientific Foundation, walked to the foot of the stairs and called to his son.