Harry looked alarmed.
"That's bad," he said.
"Well, it couldn't be helped: but we may have other enemies nearer at hand."
"What do you mean?"
"That I don't like the looks of that Portuguese fellow. If he got wind of what we are doing he would be likely to ruin the whole object of our expedition."
"That's so. We'll have to get rid of him."
"Well, we are going to, and if he won't go for gentle means we'll try rough ones."
"Hullo, what's that?" exclaimed Harry suddenly.
The flap at the end of the tent toward which both of their backs had been turned had been suddenly drawn aside and in one quick, backward glance Harry made out the smiling figure of de Barros standing in the doorway. It might have been fancy, but he thought for a minute that the Portuguese had a peculiarly villainous expression on his dark, handsome features.
"Ah, senors," he said, as Frank, with a quick movement swept the map off the table—but not before de Barros's quick eyes had spied it. Fearing to replace the precious chart in the strong box, while the Portuguese lingered, Frank tucked it into his pocket.