  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. |
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