Читать книгу The Lost Mine of the Amazon - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 3

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Hal lay rigid in his deck chair and watched from under half-closed lids. The dapper little man came toward them soundlessly and approached Denis Keen’s chair with all the slinking agility of a cat. Suddenly his hand darted down toward the sleeping man’s pocket.

Hal leaped up in a flash, grasping the little man’s pudgy wrist.

“What’s the idea, huh? Whose pocket do you think....”

Denis Keen awakened with a start.

“Hal—Señor Goncalves!” he interposed. “Why, what’s the fuss, eh?”

“Fuss enough,” said Hal angrily. “The fine Señor Goncalves has turned pickpocket I guess. I saw him reaching down to your pocket and....”

“But you are mistaken,” protested the dapper Brazilian. His voice, aggrieved and sullen, suddenly resumed its usual purr. “See, gentlemen?” he said with a note of triumph.

Hal and his uncle followed the man’s fluttering hand and saw that he was pointing toward a magazine thrust down between the canvas covering and the woodwork of Denis Keen’s deck chair.

“I came to get that—to have something to read,” purred the Señor. He turned to Hal with that same triumphant manner. “Being short of chairs, I have shared this one with your uncle. This afternoon I have sat in it and read the magazine. I leave it there at dinner and now I come to get it—so?”

“Which is all true,” said Denis Keen, getting to his feet. “I’m terribly sorry that my nephew put such a construction on your actions, Señor Goncalves—terribly sorry. But he didn’t know about our sharing chairs and that accounts for it.”

Hal’s smile was all contrition. He shrugged his broad shoulders and gave the Brazilian a firm, hearty handclasp.

“My error, Goncalves. You see, I don’t know the arrangements on this scow yet. I’ve been knocking around below decks ever since we left Para—talking to the crew and all that sort of thing. It’s my first experience in Amazon, South America.” He laughed. “I just came up a little while ago and after snooping around found Unk asleep in that chair so I just flopped into the vacant one next. Then you came along—well, I’m sorry.”

Señor Goncalves moved off into the shadows of the upper deck, smiling and content. The small echo of his purring goodnight lingered on the breeze, bespeaking the good will with which he parted from his new-found American friends.

Hal and his uncle had again settled themselves in the deck chairs and for a long time after the Brazilian had gone they sat in silence. The boat ploughed on through the softly swishing Amazon and there was no other sound save the throbbing of the engines below.

“Well, Hal, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ eh?” said Denis Keen, stifling a yawn. “I’m mighty glad that our dapper Señor took our apologies and parted in a friendly spirit. It goes to prove how necessary it is for you to curb that reckless reasoning of yours.”

Hal shifted his lanky legs and ran his fingers through a mass of curly red hair. His freckled face was unusually grave as he turned to his uncle.

“Gosh, you didn’t fall for that, did you?” he asked with not a little surprise.

“Why not—you were in the wrong! As I said before—your recklessness, Hal....”

“Unk, that wasn’t recklessness; that was just plain cautiousness. If you had seen the way he came sliding and slinking toward you in the darkness, you wouldn’t be so touched by the little tussle I gave him. People don’t sneak around looking for mislaid magazines—they stamp around and yell like the dickens. I know I do. Besides, he made no attempt to take the magazine; his browned and nicely manicured hand shot straight for your inner coat pocket and I don’t mean maybe.”

“Hal, you’re unjust—you’re....”

“Now, Unk,” Hal interposed. “I’m not that bad, honest. I know what I saw, and believe me I’d rather think that he didn’t want to go for your inner pocket. But he did! If he was so bent on getting the magazine and if his feelings were ruffled to the point that he made out they were, how is it he went off without it?”

“What?”

“Why, the magazine. There it is alongside of you, right where it was all along.”

“So it is, Hal.” Denis Keen thrust his long fingers down between the canvas and the woodwork and brought forth the disputed magazine. He studied it for a moment, shaking his long, slim head.

“Well, do you still think it doesn’t look mighty funny, Unk?” Hal asked in smiling triumph.

“Hal, my dear boy, there’s an element of doubt in everything—most everything. You’ll learn that quickly enough if you follow in my footsteps. And as for this particular incident—well, you must realize that Señor Goncalves suffered insult at your hands. You admitted yourself his feelings were ruffled. Well then, is it not perfectly plausible that he could have forgotten the magazine because of his great stress? I dare say that anyone would forget the object of his visit in the face of that unjust accusation. Señor Goncalves was thinking only of his wounded pride when he bid us goodnight.”

“Maybe,” said Hal with a contemptuous sniff, “and maybe not. Anyway, I’ve got to hand it to you, Unk, for thinking the best of that little Brazil-nut. You want to see things for yourself, huh? Well, I’ve got a hunch you’ll see all you want of that bird.”

“What could he possibly know or want?”

“Listen, Unk,” Hal answered, lowering his voice instinctively, “the Brazilian Government must have a few leaks in it the same as any other government. They invited the U. S. to send you down here to coöperate with them in hunting down the why and wherefore of this smuggling firearms business, didn’t they? Well, what’s to stop a few outsiders from finding out where and when you’re traveling?”

“Good logic, Hal,” Denis Keen smiled. “You think there must be informers in the government here giving out a tip or two to the rebel men, eh? In other words, you think that perhaps our dapper Señor Carlo Goncalves is a rebel spy, eh?”

“Righto, Unk, old scout. And I think that Brazil-nut was trying to pick your pocket—I do! Listen, Unk, have you any papers you wouldn’t care about losing right now, huh?”

“One, and it’s my letter of introduction from Rio to the interventor (he’s a sort of Governor, I believe) of Manaos. It’s a polite and lengthy document, in code of course, asking his help in securing a suitable retinue for our journey into the interior after that scamp Renan.”

“Renan!” Hal breathed admiringly. “Gosh, Unk, that fellow’s name just makes me want to meet him even if he is being hunted by two countries for smuggling ammunition to Brazilian rebels.”

“He’s merely wanted in connection with the smuggling, Hal. Naturally he takes no actual part in it. He merely exercises his gracious personality in forcing unscrupulous American munitions manufacturers to enter into his illegal plans. Renan is a soldier of fortune from what I can understand. No one seems to know whether he’s English or American—it is certain that he’s either one or the other. But everyone is agreed that he’s a man of mystery.”

It was then that they became aware of a figure moving in the shadows aft. Hal jumped from his chair and was after it in a flash. However, the figure eluded him, and though he searched the deck and near saloon for a full five minutes he returned without a clue.

“Not a soul anywhere, Unk,” he announced breathlessly, “I circled the whole blame deck too. Didn’t even run into a sailor. Funny. Were we talking very loud that time?”

“Not above a whisper. Hardly that. I dare say one would have had to come right up to our chairs to catch a word. Regardless of your hunches, Hal, I never take chances in talking—not anywhere.”

“I know—I just thought maybe ... say, Unk, is the Brazil-nut’s cabin the fourth one from ours?”

“I believe so. Why?”

“Just that there wasn’t a light or anything. But then, maybe he went to bed.”

“Even a Brazilian like Señor Goncalves has to go to bed, you know.”

Hal smiled good-naturedly at the playful thrust and shook back an errant lock of hair from his forehead.

“Even so, Unk, my impression of him is that he goes to bed when other people don’t. Don’t ask me why I think it. I couldn’t tell you. That bird is a riddle to me.”

“And you’re going to solve him yourself, I suppose?”

“Me?” asked Hal. He laughed. “I’d like to, but, who knows?”

Who, indeed!