Brazilian Gold Mine Mystery — Text and Context

irthday party at the Brewster home in Indianapolis less than a week ago. His mother had brought in a cake with sixteen lighted candles that Biff had blown out with a single puff, to the delight of the twins, Ted and Monica, who were five years younger than Biff. But the big surprise was when Biff’s mother had given him the birthday letter from his dad.

Next had come the excitement of packing, when it dawned on Biff that nearly all his birthday presents were clothes and equipment he could use on a tropical trip. Then Biff had flown to New York where Mr. Stannart had met him to put him on the plane for Brazil.

“Your father is bound on a highly important and secret mission for our company,” Mr. Stannart confided now. “He is going far up the Rio Negro, which joins the Amazon just below the city of Manaus. The party _supposedly_ will be looking for sites for rubber plantations.”

Mr. Stannart paused, then said solemnly, “Your father will be looking for gold—a fabulous gold mine about which we have secret information. But here in New York,” he went on, “we have just discovered that there has been a leak in that information. We have learned that certain people would do anything to stop your father and get to the mine first. Even now, he may be in danger.”

“But Dad didn’t say anything about it—”

“Because he doesn’t know about it. He may change his mind about letting you accompany him after you give him this letter. It will tell him all he needs to know.”

Biff put the letter deep down into his coat pocket. Mr. Stannart nodded approvingly.

“Be careful what you say to strangers,” he warned Biff, “and above all, guard that letter!”

It was nearly time for the departure of Biff’s plane. Mr. Stannart explained that it would take him to Belem, the capital city of the Brazilian state of Para, not far from the mouth of the Amazon. There, Biff would change to a plane for Manaus, a thousand miles up the great river.

Mr. Stannart studied the other passengers who were waiting to board the plane. He said to Biff in parting, in a low but confident tone:

“You won’t have any trouble on this flight. But be careful after you leave Belem!”

The long trip south did prove uneventful. During daylight, the plane was over the Atlantic Ocean, and darkness had settled when it reached the coast of Brazil. Biff landed in Belem at dawn, so it wasn’t until he had changed to the plane for Manaus that he gained his first view of the Brazilian jungle.

He saw it from a seat beside the window as the plane climbed above Belem; a vast, solid mass of billowing green that looked ready to swallow the city that spread below. Then the jungle ended, and the plane was flying over a huge expanse of brownish water streaked with waves of white. This was the Amazon River, stretching as far as the eye could see.

A smooth voice purred from beside Biff’s shoulder:

“It looks more like an ocean than a river, doesn’t it?”

Biff turned to meet the gaze of the smiling man sitting beside him whose eyes looked sharp even through his dark-green glasses. The large lenses gave an olive hue to the sleek, oval face that narrowed to a pointed chin.

“_O Rio Mar_,” the smiling man continued. “That is what Brazilians call the Amazon. It means ‘The River Sea’ in Portuguese. Do you understand the language?”

“A little,” replied Biff, “but I know Spanish better.” He was about to add that he had learned both from his father. Then, remembering Mr. Stannart’s warning to be careful when he talked to strangers, Biff stated simply but truthfully:

“I have been studying Spanish in school.”

“You will need to speak Portuguese,” the man declared, “if you are stopping off anywhere between Belem and Manaus.” He paused inquiringly. Then, getting no response, he added, “If you go farther up the Amazon or any of its tributaries, you will need to know the dialects of Indian tribes as well.”

The stranger’s easy, persuasive tone almost caused Biff to remark that he was going on beyond Manaus. But he caught himself in time and said nothing.

“You may have to talk fast, too,” Biff’s fellow passenger continued. “Those tribes are often dangerous. You are sure to find head-hunters among them.”

This time, Biff asked a question.

“Have you been among the head-hunters, sir?”

The stranger’s smile widened. “My name is Serbot, Nicholas Serbot. And yours?”

“Bruce Brewster. My friends call me Biff.”