Читать книгу Kidnapped in the Jungle - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 3

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It moved only a fraction of an inch and that was all. It might have been a fleeting shadow hovering between the dim flickering light and the dark recesses of the hold. It might have been a mere figment of his vivid imagination, Hal told himself, yet, all the while, he knew what was the secret that the towering bales and packing cases kept in the far corner.

A stowaway!

Hal’s bright blue eyes had strayed for a moment, then rested on the face of the chattering purser. He feigned polite attention as they moved about the miscellaneous collection of baggage, but kept his mind and eyes upon the bales in the far corner.

“As I said before, Mr. Keen,” the purser was saying, “this is strictly against rules, but if you think you could quickly identify your bag ... You say it’s just a small one, eh?”

“Uh huh,” Hal answered thoughtfully, “one that my mother crowded all the most important articles into. Pipes, tobacco, razor, neckties, etc. You see, the bag that was put in my stateroom is for my uncle—he’s down at the Isthmus now. Been there two months, in fact, and my mother’s sending some extra clothes for him, which I have to cart along with the rest of my luggage.”

The purser smiled pleasantly. “Ah, I remember now,” he said. “Your uncle came down with me. He’s Mr. Denis Keen—red haired and a miniature Woolworth Building like yourself, eh?”

Hal chuckled loudly at the simile and nodded. “Righto, we almost look like twins, Uncle Denis and I. He’s staking me to this trip—he thought I’d like to see what Panama looked like, and, besides, I’ll be company for him on the way home. He hates long journeys alone and most always takes me with him if he can.”

“I know about his connection with the secret service,” said the purser, lowering his voice significantly.

“On this line there are some of us employees taken into certain confidences so that we may be of aid to the government if it is within our power, or, I may say, chance. For instance, we’ve had our orders to keep our eyes peeled both on and off shore since this Alan Brody was kidnapped almost six months ago. No tellin’ when one of us, situated as we are, might run plunk into a clue or even Alan Brody himself. A twelve-year-old kid with blond hair and brown eyes ain’t easy to mistake, an’ it’s a safe bet that somethin’ some day will turn up about him between here and the Isthmus. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when I learned who your uncle was.”

Hal wondered if the stowaway had heard, and lowered his voice instinctively when he spoke. “It’ll be a big feather in Unk’s cap if he ever lands that Brody kid, and it’ll be a bigger feather if he lands the kidnappers. It’d be darn nice of you, purser, if you could give Unk a tip. Suppose you fellers are so used to the Isthmus that you find your way around and see lots and hear lots, huh?”

“Sometimes. I’ve heard lots already on my trips down there, since the kidnapping, but none of those Spiggotties seem to know anything about it.”

“They could lie?” Hal suggested.

“Yes, but in this case I think they’re telling the truth. If they did anything like that, it would be for money—ransom—but nothing like that has been written or mentioned to Mr. William Brody, the kid’s father. The man’s never heard a word since the kid wandered off from his mother and father when they were on a sightseeing trip through the jungle.”

“Mm, the kid might be dead, then. He could have sunk in a swamp or something like that.”

The purser nodded. “Well, your uncle will find that out one way or the other before he starts for home.” Then: “By the way, Mr. Brody’s on board right now. Captain told me that your uncle sent for him by cablegram last night in connection with that discovery they made there the other day. It’s in this morning’s papers. Police found part of a skeleton at the foot of a cliff.”

“Haven’t read about it,” Hal admitted. “That reminds me—my mother stuffed a paper in that bag I’m looking for. She told me last thing to read an article she had marked—maybe it’s about that. Gosh, I didn’t have time to even read the weather reports,” he said, half listening to the steady lash of rain and water against the ship. Then he glanced toward a small mound of baggage at his left and, at sight of a familiar looking steamer trunk and a small bag, he smiled. “There’s my stuff, purser. The lost is found, huh?”

Hal took up the bag, and the purser turned to lead the way out of the gloomy hold. No sound issued from the region of the bales, no shadow moved, and, though Hal lingered a moment hoping for some further sign, he heard nothing but the usual groanings and creaks of the ship as she plowed her way through a stormy sea.

They passed a stoker just up from below on relief. Stripped to the waist and covered with grime, he exchanged pleasantries with the purser, then went on his way straight in the direction of the bales.

A feeling of apprehension and sympathy welled up in Hal, and he wondered if this grimy fellow was the one that would discover the stowaway and turn him over to the ship’s captain. If he didn’t, someone else would, that was pretty certain.

“Rather anybody else than me,” Hal thought as they came up on deck. “I couldn’t turn any fellow over like that—no, not in a thousand years.”