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“No, I’m a Boy Scout leader.”

The agent’s thin lips parted in a hard, mirthless smile. “You’ll be a big help!” he said sarcastically.

“Sure! You’ll never be able to stand the climate at the Last Chance. It’s a lot colder than Bogota. I advise you to climb back on a plane and return to the States.”

“We’re asking for information, not advice,” Mr. Livingston said pleasantly. “Do you know when Mr. Corning is likely to get here?”

“You know more about it than I do,” the agent shrugged.

“You are the representative of the company,” Mr. Livingston reminded him.

“Sure, but Corning’s comings and goings ain’t none of my affair. It’s my job to ship out the emeralds. Lately, there ain’t been any to ship.” The agent smiled in grim satisfaction. “If you want it straight, your friend has fallen down on the job. He came here talking big—oh, he was going to clean up the mess at the Last Chance—get the cooperation of the workers, and open up a big vein! What’s he done? Failed like they all do.”

“You’ve handled company affairs for quite a while, I take it?” the Scout leader questioned.