“There’s the Red Arrow!” he said.
“That’s right!” agreed Tom, as he caught sight of Kilborn’s big, crimson hydroplane circling about as if preparing for a landing. “He’s following me close.”
“But he isn’t going to land near us,” commented Ned, for the Red Arrow was heading down on a different part of the plain from that occupied by Tom Swift’s craft.
“Glad of it,” the inventor remarked. “I don’t want any more trouble with him. He’s a crook!”
Then the two young men forgot their anxieties in viewing the wonders of the old place, while curious natives crowded about them. They wandered into one of the bazaars, where Tom bought some trinkets for Mary and Ned a souvenir for Helen.
“And while we’re here,” said Tom to his chum, “we can mail some postcards back home. We may not get another chance.”
“Good idea,” agreed Ned.
They were in the local post-office, to them a queer sort of place, where they found a native who could speak enough English to tell them what they wanted to know about stamps and cards and the mails.
While they were writing their messages, Ned observed two men, who seemed to be officials of some sort, hurriedly enter the post-office and talk with the man who had acted as interpreter. But the young man gave this scene little thought until he and Tom were ready to leave.
Then Ned saw these same two officials barring their way out. Tom also became aware of something and exclaimed, respectfully enough: