CHAPTER I
A RIDDLE
Hal lay rigid in his deck chair and watched from under half-closed lids. The dapper little man came toward them soundlessly and approached Denis Keen’s chair with all the slinking agility of a cat. Suddenly his hand darted down toward the sleeping man’s pocket.
SUDDENLY THE MAN’S HAND DARTED DOWN TOWARD THE SLEEPING MAN’S POCKET.
Hal leaped up in a flash, grasping the little man’s pudgy wrist.
“What’s the idea, huh? Whose pocket do you think....”
Denis Keen awakened with a start.
“Hal—Señor Goncalves!” he interposed. “Why, what’s the fuss, eh?”
“Fuss enough,” said Hal angrily. “The fine Señor Goncalves has turned pickpocket I guess. I saw him reaching down to your pocket and....”
“But you are mistaken,” protested the dapper Brazilian. His voice, aggrieved and sullen, suddenly resumed its usual purr. “See, gentlemen?” he said with a note of triumph.