“There! There it is!” Pant pounced upon a sack. The green thread shone along its side.
With trembling fingers he cut the cord that bound it. A moment later, carrying a mysterious package wrapped in palm leaves, the two boys passed out of the door.
A second taxi was hailed. “We’d better go back to Uncle’s office,” said Kirk. “He—he’s awfully square, and knows a lot. He’ll tell us what to do.”
Pant scarcely heard him as he was crowded once more into a taxi. His mind was in wild commotion. At last he was in New York, in possession of a vast treasure. Whose treasure was it, the old Don’s or his own? He had read George Elliott’s Romola, remembered Tito, the traitor to an old man, and recalled his terrible end.
“I will not be a traitor,” he told himself. “If the treasure appears to belong to the old Don he shall have it, every penny!” At that his troubled mind found rest.
“I suppose,” said Kirk, “that you have wondered how I came to be at the old Don’s.”
“Often,” said Pant.
“Well, you see, my Uncle is my guardian. He holds nearly half the stock of his Company in my name. When I am of age it will be mine to manage. My Uncle believes I should know all there is to be known about the business, from the jungle to the wrapper,” he laughed.
“So he sent me down there. He got the Carib giant for my bodyguard, and told me to go where I chose, only to keep my eyes open. I came at last to the old Don’s. I liked it so much up there that I stayed a long time.”
“Glorious, wasn’t it!” said Pant. “I’d like to live there with the old Don for a whole year.