Boy Scouts in the Canal Zone: or, The Plot Against Uncle Sam

“Your father found him on the Isthmus?”

“Yes; on his latest trip.”

“He consulted with him, in a way, concerning conditions here?”

“Yes, I think he did. Pedro is a very intelligent man, and proud as the Son of the Morning. He gave me his pedigree about the first day of his service in the house.”

“Perhaps your father sought his advice regarding the emerald business.”

“Yes, I think he did, now and then.”

“And Pedro was always ready to advise?”

“Oh, of course.”

“And your father grew to put some confidence in his talk?”

“I presume so, for they talked together a good deal. But I don’t see what you are getting at.”

“Do you know whether the two discussed the location and opening up of new mines?”

“Oh, yes. Father is always after new mines.”

“Where is he looking for them?”

“On the Isthmus and all through the republic of Colombia, I think.”

“And especially on the Isthmus?”

“I believe so.”

“And Pedro was active in looking up possible workings?”

“Yes; he used to show father maps and plans, at night, in the study, and they used to pore over them for hours at a time. But what does that amount to? Father took him to New York, I have no doubt, because he thought he would be useful in that way. The fellow knows every inch of the Isthmus and South America. Now, let me ask you a question. Do you think he stole my emerald necklace?”

“No, frankly, I do not,” replied Ned.

“But you have a notion that he let the others into the house?”

“Well, he might have done so.”

“He showed guilt when he ran away.”

“Of course. The fact is that if he did let the thieves into the house he did not do so especially to give them a chance to steal the necklace. At least that is the way I look at it. And, again, if he did admit them, he permitted them to do a bungling job.”

“You mean that they didn’t get what they wanted?”

“Exactly.”

“The papers concerning the plot?”

“Probably.”

“Well, how could they get them if they weren’t in the house?”

“He should have located them before he turned his confederates loose.”

“Then you really think Pedro was at the bottom of all that?”

“I have not said so,” was the reply. “There is no knowing whether he was or not.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so secretive,” Frank said. “You have a straight out and out theory of that night’s work, and you won’t tell me what it is.”

“I never form theories,” was the reply.

“What would Pedro want of the papers?” Frank demanded. “Was he in the plot to blow up the dam, or was he just paid to get them?”

“I can tell you more about that in a few days. It is midnight, and I will relieve you. Go to bed.”

“I shall sleep sounder after I hear from father,” the boy said, passing into the cottage. “He may be having troubles of his own in New York,” he added, pausing at the door for a last word.

Ned sat for a long time on the screened porch with the splendor of the tropical night about him. The jungle came nearly to the walls of the house on all sides, save in front, where a little clearing had been made, and the noises, the creature and vine talk of the thickets, came to his ears like low music.

He listened constantly for the footsteps of the absent boys, but for a long time there was no break in the lilt of the forest. Then – it must have been two o’clock – he heard the quick beat of running feet, and directly Gastong, as Jack had fancifully named his new acquaintance, came spurting into the cleared space.

He stopped running when he reached the middle of the cutaway spot and, seeing Ned on the porch, beckoned to him.

Ned was off the porch in an instant, standing by the exhausted boy, who was now on the ground, supporting his swaying figure with one hand clutching the long grass.

“What is it,” asked Ned.

“Have you heard anything of the boys, the two who went away in the car?” asked the other. “Have they come back?”

“No,” replied Ned, filled with a sickening sense of helplessness, “they have not returned. Come inside the screen and speak low, so as not to wake the others.”

Gastong rose slowly to his feet and walked stumblingly to the porch. Once inside he dropped into a chair.

“I have run a long distance,” he said, by way of apology for his weakened condition. “I’m all in.”

“What is it about the boys?” Ned demanded, clutching the other by the arm.

“I stopped at the old house,” began Gastong, but Ned cut him short.

“About the boys,” he said, shaking him fiercely. “What about the boys?”

“They are either in the hands of your enemies or lost in the jungle.”

The words were spoken shrinkingly, as if the news conveyed might be of his own making.