those little toys to you, I suppose.'
'I know them.'
'One of my luckier days,' Hamilton said. 'Well, see you both tomorrow.'
The saloon of the Hotel de Paris, after closing hours, had six occupants. Heffner, glass in hand, was slumped in a chair, but his eyes were open: Hamilton, Ramon, Navarro, Serrano and Tracy were asleep or apparently so, stretched out on benches or on the floor. Bedrooms were, that night, at a premium in the Hotel de Paris. As they were all equally dreadful and bug-ridden, Hamilton had explained, this was not a matter for excessive regret.
Heffner stirred, stooped, removed his boots, rose and padded his noiseless way across to the bar, deposited his glass on the counter, then crossed silently to the nearest rucksack. It was, inevitably, Hamilton's. Heffner opened it, searched briefly, removed a map, and studied it intently for some minutes before returning it to the rucksack. He returned to the bar, poured himself a generous measure of the Hotel de Paris's Scotch. Wherever the birthplace of that particular brand was it hadn't been among the highlands and islands of Scotland. He returned to his seat, replaced his shoes, leaned back in his chair to enjoy his night-cap, spluttered and emptied half the contents on the floor.
Hamilton, Ramon and Navarro, heads propped on hands, were regarding him with a quietly speculative air.
Hamilton said: 'Well, did you find what you were looking for?'
Heffner didn't say whether he had or not.
'One of the three of us is going to keep an eye on you for the remainder of the night. You try to stir from that chair and I will take the greatest pleasure in clobbering you. I don't much care for people who meddle in my private belongings.'
Hamilton and the twins slept soundly throughout the night. Heffner did not once leave his chair.
CHAPTER SIX
Just after dawn, the helicopter pilot, John Silver — generally known as Long John — was at the controls. The party of nine embarked and stowed their overnight luggage with the food and equipment that had been transferred from the DC}. Hamilton took the co-pilot's seat. So cavernous was the interior of the giant helicopter that it seemed virtually empty. It rose effortlessly and flew more or less east, paralleling the course of the Rio da Morte. All the passengers had their heads craned, peering through what few windows there were: they were seeing for the first time the true Amazonian rain-forest.
Hamilton turned in his seat and pointed forward. 'That's an interesting sight.' His voice was a shout.
On a wide mud flat, perhaps almost a mile long, and on the left bank, scores of alligators lay motionless as if asleep.
'Good God!' It was Smith. 'Good God! Are there so many 'gators in the world?' He shouted to Silver: 'Take her down, man, take her down!' Then to Heffner: 'Your camera! Quick!' He paused, as if in sudden thought, then turned to Hamilton. 'Or should I have asked the expedition commander's permission?'
Hamilton shrugged. 'What's five minutes?'
The helicopter came down over the river in great sweeping, controlled circles. Long John was clearly a first-rate pilot.
The alligators, hemmed in the narrow strip between forest and river, seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. It was, depending upon one's point of view, a fascinating, horrifying or terrifying spectacle.
Tracy said, almost in awe: 'My word, I wouldn't care to crash-land amongst that lot.'
Hamilton looked at him. 'Believe me, that's the least of the dangers down there.'
'The least?'
'This is the heart of the Chapate territory.'
'That meant to mean something to me?'
'You have a short memory. I've mentioned them before. It would mean something to you if you ended up in one of their cooking-pots.'
Smith looked at him doubtfully, clearly not knowing whether to believe him or not, then turned to the pilot.
'That's low enough, Silver.' He twisted in his seat and shouted at the top of his voice: 'God's sake, man, hurry!'
'Moment, moment,'
'I know them.'
'One of my luckier days,' Hamilton said. 'Well, see you both tomorrow.'
The saloon of the Hotel de Paris, after closing hours, had six occupants. Heffner, glass in hand, was slumped in a chair, but his eyes were open: Hamilton, Ramon, Navarro, Serrano and Tracy were asleep or apparently so, stretched out on benches or on the floor. Bedrooms were, that night, at a premium in the Hotel de Paris. As they were all equally dreadful and bug-ridden, Hamilton had explained, this was not a matter for excessive regret.
Heffner stirred, stooped, removed his boots, rose and padded his noiseless way across to the bar, deposited his glass on the counter, then crossed silently to the nearest rucksack. It was, inevitably, Hamilton's. Heffner opened it, searched briefly, removed a map, and studied it intently for some minutes before returning it to the rucksack. He returned to the bar, poured himself a generous measure of the Hotel de Paris's Scotch. Wherever the birthplace of that particular brand was it hadn't been among the highlands and islands of Scotland. He returned to his seat, replaced his shoes, leaned back in his chair to enjoy his night-cap, spluttered and emptied half the contents on the floor.
Hamilton, Ramon and Navarro, heads propped on hands, were regarding him with a quietly speculative air.
Hamilton said: 'Well, did you find what you were looking for?'
Heffner didn't say whether he had or not.
'One of the three of us is going to keep an eye on you for the remainder of the night. You try to stir from that chair and I will take the greatest pleasure in clobbering you. I don't much care for people who meddle in my private belongings.'
Hamilton and the twins slept soundly throughout the night. Heffner did not once leave his chair.
CHAPTER SIX
Just after dawn, the helicopter pilot, John Silver — generally known as Long John — was at the controls. The party of nine embarked and stowed their overnight luggage with the food and equipment that had been transferred from the DC}. Hamilton took the co-pilot's seat. So cavernous was the interior of the giant helicopter that it seemed virtually empty. It rose effortlessly and flew more or less east, paralleling the course of the Rio da Morte. All the passengers had their heads craned, peering through what few windows there were: they were seeing for the first time the true Amazonian rain-forest.
Hamilton turned in his seat and pointed forward. 'That's an interesting sight.' His voice was a shout.
On a wide mud flat, perhaps almost a mile long, and on the left bank, scores of alligators lay motionless as if asleep.
'Good God!' It was Smith. 'Good God! Are there so many 'gators in the world?' He shouted to Silver: 'Take her down, man, take her down!' Then to Heffner: 'Your camera! Quick!' He paused, as if in sudden thought, then turned to Hamilton. 'Or should I have asked the expedition commander's permission?'
Hamilton shrugged. 'What's five minutes?'
The helicopter came down over the river in great sweeping, controlled circles. Long John was clearly a first-rate pilot.
The alligators, hemmed in the narrow strip between forest and river, seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. It was, depending upon one's point of view, a fascinating, horrifying or terrifying spectacle.
Tracy said, almost in awe: 'My word, I wouldn't care to crash-land amongst that lot.'
Hamilton looked at him. 'Believe me, that's the least of the dangers down there.'
'The least?'
'This is the heart of the Chapate territory.'
'That meant to mean something to me?'
'You have a short memory. I've mentioned them before. It would mean something to you if you ended up in one of their cooking-pots.'
Smith looked at him doubtfully, clearly not knowing whether to believe him or not, then turned to the pilot.
'That's low enough, Silver.' He twisted in his seat and shouted at the top of his voice: 'God's sake, man, hurry!'
'Moment, moment,'
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