Father Francisco sat facing the sea, but he turned slowly as the Scouts entered. He was a small, bent old man in a black dressing robe and sandals. Pillows braced his back.
Motioning Ken and Jack into well-worn leather chairs, he said in precise but perfect English: “I regret I have been ill and could not see you when first you called. My arthritis has been most painful. Mr. Livingston did not accompany you?”
Jack replied that their leader was in conference with government officials. He and Ken both were uncomfortably aware of the old missionary’s intent scrutiny. They had an odd feeling that he not only knew everything about them and their party, but could read their innermost thoughts.
“How do you like Peru?” Father Francisco inquired politely.
“We haven’t seen very much of it,” Jack confessed. “Cuertos though, isn’t exactly as we pictured it.”
“The coastal area is very dry,” the missionary said, fingering a long, gold neck chain. “Here at Cuertos we have a good rain at least once a century. Earthquakes, I regret to say, are more frequent.”
An awkward silence fell. Father Francisco broke it by inquiring: “You are Scouts from America?”
“Explorers,” Ken said proudly. “I guess you already know why we are here.”
Father Francisco eyed the pair quizzically. “You are searching for Burton Monahan? Or is it the treasure which intrigues you?”
“We’re trying to find Mr. Monahan,” Jack replied earnestly.