“They’re upset already,” Nicky grumbled, “That man’s gone——”
“No he isn’t,” Tom replied, “He’s waiting outside, by a post—I can see him through the window. There! Why—I believe the very same Indian we saw by the temple is giving him money!”
“Yes—I’m sure it’s the same one,” Cliff said, “He’s coming in.”
The tall Indian, or Inca noble, for he was really that, was admitted. The two waiting men stretched out eager hands.
“We get them,” said one, “You pay. We go.” Then he remembered that he spoke a half-halting English, and repeated it in dialect.
The Indian paid them some money and the two men, as if glad to be away, left quickly. The boy came in, acting shamefaced, but trying to look cheerful. He, too, stretched out a hand.
“Now—if only we had some way to take these two by surprise,” began Tom.
“Sh-h-h!” warned Nicky, “They’ll hear you.”
Cliff reminded him that the Indian had not understood the half-breeds when one spoke in English, and that the boy had to stop and translate. He spoke in low, eager tones.
“Nicky, what did you do with that little box of magnesium powder you took out of the supplies this morning? You were going to try to take a daylight kodak picture inside a temple by flashlight. If you had it, now——”