Читать книгу The Lost Mine of the Amazon - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 5

Table of Contents

Before Hal had recovered from his astonishment, there burst into the cabin, the sailor, who was leading a cringing, ratlike little man. Behind them came the captain, wringing his hands excitedly and talking in vociferous Portuguese.

“Many pardons, Señors!” said he, bowing apologetically. “This half-caste, Pizella—he come up from steerage to rob you—yes?”

“I’ve been robbed of something important,” Denis Keen answered and explained in Spanish the importance of his letter.

The captain was irate with the half-caste, Pizella, and with the aid of the sailor proceeded to search him most thoroughly. But this availed them nothing.

“Nothing?” Hal asked. He glanced at the sailor. “You sure this is the bird I told you to beat it after?”

“Most certain, Señor,” the sailor assured him. “I caught him half-way down the stairway.”

“Hmph,” said Denis Keen, “question him, then.”

A few more minutes ensued in which the captain and the sailor took turns at arguing with the man in an unintelligible patois. But nothing came of this either, for the half-caste protested that he was entirely innocent.

“Then what can we do?” the captain beseeched Denis Keen. “We find nothing stolen on Pizella, the young Señor Hal does not know sure that it was he in the cabin—he admits it very truly when he asks the sailor was he sure.”

“That is very true, Captain,” said Denis Keen. “My nephew could not swear to it that this man was the intruder, can you, Hal?”

Hal could not. A fair-sized group of upper deck passengers had gathered about their cabin door listening to the singular conversation. At the head of them stood Señor Carlo Goncalves in a state of partial dishabille and listening attentively.

When Denis Keen had dismissed the wretched Pizella because of lack of evidence, the dapper Brazilian came forward twisting his little waxed moustache and smiling.

“Perhaps you have lost not so very much—yes?” he asked sympathetically.

“Perhaps not,” Denis Keen smiled. “Just a letter, Señor.”

Señor Goncalves looked astonished, then comprehending.

“Ah, but the letter is important—no?”

“Yes,” Denis Keen smiled, “it is important. You know nothing about this man Pizella?”

“Nothing except he is half-caste and that speaks much, Señor,” said Goncalves genially. “They do quite funny things, these half-castes.”

“Such as espionage?” Denis Keen asked quietly, yet forcefully.

Hal watched the dapper Brazilian narrowly, but caught not one betraying movement. The man’s swarthy face showed only a sincere concern that these aliens should be distressed in his beloved country.

“The half-castes they are all rebels perhaps,” said the man at length. “But that they should bother the Señors—ah, it is deplorable. For why should the half-caste Pizella....”

“Perhaps he had reason to believe I had something to do with your government,” interposed Denis Keen. “I have—as a friendly neighbor. But my letter—it was one of introduction to the interventor at Manaos. With his aid I am to get together a party suitable to my purpose. I am interested in anthropology, Señor, just a dilettante, of course, and my nephew, Hal, inherits the curse.”

Señor Goncalves laughed with great gusto and twisted his tiny moustache until each end resembled sharp pin points.

“Ah, but that is interesting, Señor,” said he genially. “But as for your letter—ah, it is nothing, for I myself know the interventor—I can take you to him.”

“That is indeed kind, Señor,” said Denis Keen relaxing. “Very kind.”

“Ah, it is nothing, Señors, quite nothing. I should be delighted to help my neighbor Americanos on their interesting journey into the Unknown. And now shall we enjoy the rest of the journey to Manaos—no?”

“Yes,” Denis Keen chuckled. “We shall indeed.”

Hal smiled wryly—he was still smiling when the Señor had bowed himself out of their cabin to dress for breakfast. Denis Keen observed him carefully.

“You seem to be laughing up your sleeve, as usual, Hal.”

“I am, Unk. It’s a case of the noise is ended but the suspicion lingers on.”

“You’re just hopeless, Hal. I watched the man closely—so did you. Besides, he is acquainted with the interventor and that serves my purpose. I shall have no further use for the Señor, once I get an audience with the interventor. He’ll know no more about us than he does now.”

“Well, that gives him a pretty wide margin, Unk. Wasn’t it telling him a lot just to say you missed that letter?”

“Not at all. Most Americans on such expeditions as it is believed we contemplate secure letters of introduction along their itinerary. The dapper chap is just a former prosperous man forced by circumstances to go trading into the interior for rubber as his only means of livelihood. He’s a jolly chap, you must admit, and with an inherent sense of hospitality. And as for any continued suspicion of him, Hal, you saw with your own eyes that he was in pajamas and dressing gown, while you are sure that the man who ran from this cabin was fully dressed.”

“Yes, that’s true, Unk. Oh, I guess I’m just a bug on hunches. I’ll try and forget it, because I do admit the Brazil-nut’s a friendly little guy—yes, he isn’t half bad for a shipmate. But I would like to know about that letter.”

“Who wouldn’t? It’s futile to wonder, though. I’m convinced that the little Pizella isn’t what he looks. I think he took the letter all right, but my idea is that he’s either hidden it or thrown it into the river before the sailor caught him at the foot of the stairs. But our chances for holding him were nil when you couldn’t identify him.”

“How could I in the dark and when he ran so fast, too?” Hal protested. “I couldn’t say it honestly even if I felt I was right.”

“Of course. But put it out of your mind. The captain has promised to have Pizella watched closely for the rest of the voyage. Now let’s hurry and dress so we can get breakfast over with. The Señor promised me yesterday afternoon that he’d escort me below this morning. He’s going to explain in his inimitable way two or three quite interesting looking half-castes that I happened to spot down in the steerage yesterday. He seems to have a knack for worming historical facts out of people. He did that with a Colombian sailor who was stationed up forward.”

“Well, look out he doesn’t worm any historical facts out of you.”

They laughed over this together and finished dressing. Breakfast followed, and when they strolled out on deck to meet the dapper Brazilian, the steamer was chugging her way through the Narrows.

They spent an interesting hour down in the steerage with the vivacious Brazilian, then lingered at the deck rail there to view the surrounding forest which all but brushed the ship on either side. At times it seemed as if the jungle had closed in and was trying to choke them, and that they were writhing out of its clutches, struggling ahead with heroic effort.

Hal felt stifled at the scene and said so. Señor Goncalves was at once all concern. They would return to the upper deck immediately he said and proceeded to lead the way, when the half-caste, Pizella, shuffled into sight. Instinctively they stopped, waiting for him to pass.

He glanced at them all in his shiftless, sullen way—first at Denis Keen and then at Hal. Suddenly his dark little eyes rested on the Brazilian, then quickly dropped. In a moment, he had disappeared around the other side of the deck.

Not a word passed among them concerning the wretched-looking creature and Hal followed the others to the upper deck in silence. He was thinking, however, and greatly troubled. Try as he would, he could not repress that small questioning voice within.

Was there any significance in the glance that passed between the half-caste and Goncalves?