Porfias del Norte himself, still wearing his torn clothing, was standing beside the berths, on the upper one of which sat a small iron box. This box had been opened, and in the hands of Del Norte was an outspread paper that looked like a map.
Instantly Dick realized that the Mexican was rifling Frank’s private papers. In some manner Del Norte had opened the iron box, and now he was going through the papers to find the valuable ones he desired.
The opening of the door caused the rascal to wheel instantly, uttering a suppressed exclamation.
“What are you doing?” cried Dick, lifting a hand and pointing an accusing finger at the Mexican.
For a moment the rascal was taken aback. Then he swiftly folded the paper and thrust it into his trousers pocket.
“I beg your pardon, young señor,” smiled Del Norte, seemingly to recover his ease. “You startled me a trifle when you opened the door so suddenly.”
“What are you doing, you scoundrel?” cried the boy. “Give up that paper!”
“What paper?” asked the man, with pretended innocence.
“The one you thrust into your pocket.”
“Oh, it belongs to me. Why, what’s the matter with you? You seem greatly agitated. Has anything happened to excite you?”