“So you see—” he went on, “you will be aiding this aged Arab and, at the same time, adding a little to our American collection of Egyptian lore. Some rare discoveries have been made by those who delve into the mysteries of the messages recorded thousands of years ago.”
“Perhaps this tells of some war fought and won on these very grounds,” she suggested.
“Here is a card,” he said, handing her a square of cardboard. “On it I have written the address of my old professor of Egyptology. I suggest that you show the roll to him before you deliver it to this Doctor Spinka—”
“Why?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “in these times we must be very careful. There is an off chance that an enemy spy is working through this Arab to turn a sharp trick on us.”
“And if that is true, your professor will discover it?”
“He and his colleagues.”
“Okay—good-night, Dad. You’ll call me?”
“You’ll be at the airport on time, with a good cup of coffee and toasted English muffins under your belt.”
The off chance is sometimes the real chance, also the wisest of men sometimes make mistakes. It is also true that the game is neither won nor lost until the last card is played. The roll of papyrus went aboard Mary’s plane as planned and was promptly forgotten.