EARTHQUAKE TREMORS
A second, harder tremor jarred the room, nearly knocking Jack and Ken
off their feet.
“This mission is soundly built,” the old missionary said in a quiet
voice. “These ancient walls have sustained a dozen severe quakes. But
you will feel safer outside.”
The two Scouts were reluctant to leave Father Francisco, who scarcely
seemed able to maintain his balance.
“Come with us,” Jack urged, taking his arm.
“No, I must toll the bell. When my people hear the bell, they know that
the quake is not a hard one. It reassures them and prevents panic. I
must ring it now.”
Painfully, the missionary moved toward the long corridor. Another shock
came, knocking a small statue from a niche in the wall. Plaster dust
filled the air.
“Where is the bell?” Jack demanded. “We’ll ring it for you.”
“Across the patio,” Father Francisco directed. “The bell tower is to the
right, beyond the kitchens.”
The very walls seemed to weave as Jack and Ken raced for the tower.
Outside the mission, all was confusion. The Scouts could hear the
frightened screams of terrified natives who sought the streets.
Reaching the bell tower, they seized the long rope. A dozen times they
tolled the bell.
Another heavy tremor shook the mission. For a moment, Jack and Ken
feared that the bell tower would come toppling down upon their heads.
But the danger passed and even to their ears, the steady, clear clang of
the bell was reassuring.
Minutes passed and there were no further quakes. Jack dropped the bell
rope.
“The worst is over now, I think,” he said. “Let’s see what has happened
to the village.”
Outside, natives were milling in the streets and running toward the
mission. In two places the cobblestones had heaved up, leaving a wide,
deep crevass. Faces mirrored fear and anxiety, but there was no panic.
Heavy dust hung over the street. Some distance away, a house was on
fire. Already the villagers were fighting the flames with buckets of
water. Jack and Ken helped, and then, when the blaze was out, looked
about for Warwick and Willie.
“I guess they must have gone back to the waterfront,” Ken said. “Or
maybe to our hotel. We ought to find ’em.”
“Think we should make certain Father Francisco is all right before we
go?”
“A good idea,” Ken nodded. “Quakes are old stuff to him, I guess. But at
his age a little excitement might bring on a heart attack. Let’s go back
to say goodbye.”
The outside mission door stood wide open. Meeting no one, the two Scouts
went down the deserted corridor to pause hesitantly at the entrance to
the library.
Evidently, the elderly missionary had not expected them to return. His
back was toward them. He was searching rapidly through the miscellaneous
papers which cluttered the table.
“It’s over, I guess,” Jack remarked in a purposely loud voice. “No great
damage done.”
Startled, Father Francisco turned around quickly. “Oh, yes, yes,” he
said, almost vaguely.
“Is anything wrong, Father?” Ken inquired, aware that the missionary
seemed gravely disturbed.
“The old Portuguese manuscript,” Father Francisco muttered. “Did either
of you pick it up when you went to ring the bell?”
“Why, no,” answered Ken.
“It was lying on the table when we left,” Jack added.
“So I thought,” declared Father Francisco in a troubled voice. “I went
to the street for a few minutes to quiet my people. When I returned a
moment ago, I could not find the parchment.”
“Might your housekeeper have taken it?” suggested Ken.
“Impossible. My servants are trained never to touch any of my papers.”
“Has anyone else been in the library?” Jack questioned. “For instance,
that parrot woman we caught listening at the door?”
“Lolita would have no use for the manuscript. She has no schooling and
can neither read nor write.”
The Scouts became aware that Father Francisco was regarding them with a
peculiar, thoughtful expression. Belatedly, it dawned upon them that
they might be under suspicion.
“I hope you don’t think we took that parchment!” Jack blurted out.
“We’re Scouts. It’s part of our creed to be honest and trustworthy.”
“I believe you,” the missionary said. “Give the matter no further
thought. True, I value the parchment highly, but sooner or later, the
culprit will reveal himself.”
“There’s something mighty queer about that manuscript taking wings,” Ken
remarked. “First, we lose the translation. Now the original is gone—just
when we need it too.”
“We can’t blame this on Captain Carter,” Jack pointed out. “His boat is
probably making harbor about now.”
“That parchment might have helped us find Burton Monahan.”
Father Francisco told the Scouts that although he had no copy of the
Portuguese manuscript, he had pored over it so often he could recall
countless passages from memory. He promised that he would write as much
as he could remember in English and have it for the boys if they came
again.
“We’ll return,” Jack assured him. “Having a copy of that manuscript
means a lot to us.”
Taking leave of the missionary, Ken and Jack went directly to the beach.
Father Francisco had made no mistake in identifying the _Shark_. The
familiar schooner was anchored some distance from shore. Even now, a
small boat was plying its way across the harbor.
“There’s Captain Carter!” Jack cried, recognizing the man in the bow.
“Let’s head him off.”
At the dogtrot, the Scouts started down shore. But they were too far
away to hail the Captain. His boat touched the beach some distance away,
and without seeing them he started off alone in the opposite direction.
Determined to overtake him, Ken and Jack followed. Captain Carter was
still some yards away when abruptly he halted to talk to a woman at an
open-air vegetable stall.
“The parrot woman!” Ken exclaimed, stopping short. “Father Francisco was
right! They’re old friends.”
The two Explorers were too far away to hear the conversation, even if
they could have understood the rapid flow of Spanish. But they noted
that the two spoke most earnestly together.
And then Lolita, with a movement so swift that Ken and Jack nearly
missed it, whipped something from her dress front. She handed the bulky
object to Captain Carter, who thrust it under his coat.
“What was that?” Jack demanded alertly.
“It looked like the missing parchment to me!”
“I thought so too! But why would she have snatched it for Captain
Carter? He couldn’t have told her to do it, because he only now made
port.”
“You got me,” Ken responded. “But she certainly slipped him something.
Shall we buzz ’em?”
“Let’s wait,” Jack decided after a moment of thought. “No use tipping
our hand.”
Unnoticed, they watched the two talk together for a few minutes longer.
Captain Carter took money from his billfold, giving it to the parrot
woman. She then slipped away behind the vegetable stall.
Ken and Jack made no attempt to intercept the Captain until he had
started on. As they came up behind him, he whirled suddenly and reached
toward his hip as if for a weapon.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said relaxing. “Well! Well! I just came ashore to
tell Livingston his cargo is here safe and sound.”
“Six days late,” Jack remarked.
“We were delayed by a gale. Where’s Livingston?”
Jack explained that the Scout leader was in conference with government
officials.
“Still set on going inland?”
“That’s the plan,” Ken told him.
“It’s a mistake,” Captain Carter said gruffly. “If anyone goes off on a
wild chase looking for Monahan, I’m the man to do it, because I know
this country. Now if Livingston could see it that way, you could park
yourselves comfortably—like at Lima. I’d take the expedition in and
either find Monahan or learn what became of him.”
“You know then where he disappeared?” Jack asked, watching the seaman
closely.
Captain Carter shot a quick, suspicious glance at him. “No such thing,”
he denied. “I know where he made his last camp before he started into
hostile Indian territory. I tried to get him to turn back, but he
wouldn’t listen.”
Ken and Jack remained silent. Nevertheless, they were convinced that the
master of the _Shark_ was lying. More than ever they were of the opinion
that he knew more about Burton Monahan’s disappearance than he had
revealed. Why, they wondered, was he eager to head an expedition and yet
unwilling to have them go along?
“I was hired to haul your cargo here, and the job’s done,” the Captain
continued. “If you’re asking for advice, though, I’m telling you to
forget the expedition.”
“That’s what Father Francisco said, too,” Ken replied.
“Father Francisco?” Carter’s face twisted with dislike. “What did that
old fossil tell you about me?”
“Not very much,” Jack answered. “It may interest you to know that while
we were at the mission, Father Francisco lost the Portuguese parchment
which described the secret mountain and the lost Inca city. It was
stolen from the library during the earthquake.”
“So?”
“We saw Lolita at the mission,” Ken took over. “In fact, she listened at
the door. Weren’t you talking to her just now?”
“What if I was? You want to make something of it?”
“We were wondering—”
“Well, don’t!” Captain Carter cut in belligerently. “Keep out of my
affairs, or I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t find in the Boy Scout
manual! Lolita’s an old friend of mine. I got a lot of friends in this
port.”
With that, the master of the _Shark_ swaggered away, to disappear in a
water-front tavern.