“You may have to talk fast, too,” Biff’s fellow passenger continued. “Those tribes are often dangerous. You are sure to find head-hunters among them.”
This time, Biff asked a question.
“Have you been among the head-hunters, sir?”
The stranger’s smile widened. “My name is Serbot, Nicholas Serbot. And yours?”
“Bruce Brewster. My friends call me Biff.”
Nicholas Serbot inclined his head politely. “No, I have never been among the head-hunters, Biff. I come to Manaus occasionally to do business for some European concerns that I represent. Mostly in rubber.”
“My dad is in Manaus,” Biff volunteered. “I’m meeting him there.”
“Perhaps he will take you on a jungle safari. They organize such trips in Manaus.”
“That sounds great!” exclaimed Biff. “I’ll mention it to Dad!”
“Tell him to inquire at the Hotel Amazonas,” suggested Serbot. “Meanwhile”—he leaned toward Biff as he spoke—“you may find the scene below quite interesting.”