“These people may be all right,” Clay explained to the others, “but it is just as well to pay on delivery.”
Finally they came to a public restaurant which seemed to be tolerably clean. It was a small public eating house, such as one finds at Havana and Para, operated in Spanish style and boasting a fair menu. The boys found that they could get steaks there and ordered liberally. An extra one was ordered cooked for Jule.
The lads enjoyed their dinners greatly, Alex declaring that the only thing lacking to make it perfect was the motion of a boat on a stream! The cooking was good and the attendance perfect, but there was something about the seeming friendliness of the proprietor, who insisted on personally attending to the wants of the boys, which was not wholly sincere—at least so it seemed to Case.
When he referred to the matter, however, the others laughed at him, and Clay even showed a handful of gold when he paid for the dinners and the basket which was going back to Jule, well loaded with eatables. After leaving the place Clay turned back.
“I’m going to have some of that odd-tasting coffee put into the basket for Jule,” he said. “I meant to have it done while we were in there. I’ll go back and have it put in, and you boys go on around the town and meet me there.”
The others protested against Clay going back alone, but he only laughed at their fears. Half an hour later, after walking through the main streets of the odd Brazilian city, the boys entered the restaurant to find Clay sitting at the table they had occupied with his head on an arm, which was resting on the table. He seemed to be sound asleep, and Case and Alex shook him vigorously.
“He has been asleep for a long time,” the proprietor explained, in Spanish, translated by Frank, “and I let him alone. He had company with him at the table first, and they ordered coffee—coffee to drink and more coffee to put in the basket.”
The boys lifted Clay to his feet and shook him until he opened his eyes. He seemed to be dazed, and Frank set the boy back into a chair and gave his attention to his pockets. They were all turned wrong side out and empty!
The proprietor insisted on calling in the police. He declared that one of the men Clay had visited with at the table was not above suspicion, and began to talk vaguely about getting the money back.
“Wait,” Frank said to him. “We’ll go on board with him first. You see,” he continued, talking to the boys after they had finally succeeded in getting Clay out of the place, apparently against the wishes of the owner, “if he calls in the police we’ll be held no one knows how long as witnesses. One of us may even be accused of taking the money. They are all against foreigners here, so the best thing for us to do is to pocket the loss and get away as soon as possible.”