"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 043 - The Mystery Of The Aztec Warrior" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

"And the fellow looks like an Indian!" Joe thought.

The Hardys stopped him, and Frank asked about the tattoo. The man laughed and said in English, with a Spanish accent, "I had this put on because I am direct descendant of an Aztec warrior."

Frank and Joe were almost speechless with astonishment. Had their quest for a direct descendant of an Aztec warrior come to an end? Was this the person to whom the valuable object belonged? Frank asked the mechanic if he knew a Jonathan Moore.

"No, I am Mexican - maybe you have guessed that? I have been in your country only short time. I do not know many people."

Mexico!

"Is your name, by any chance, Roberto Hermosa?" Joe asked.

The mechanic looked amused. "No. I never hear of Roberto Hermosa."

The Hardys' enthusiasm was waning but was not entirely dispelled. From a pocket Frank pulled a picture of the man they suspected of being Roberto Hermosa. "Have you ever seen this person?" he asked.

"No, I never see that man in my life. But you call him Hermosa. For several years I work at beautiful hacienda near Taxco. It called `Vista Hermosa'. That mean `Beautiful View!' You should visit."

Frank told the mechanic they were trying to locate the person shown in the picture.

"I wish I could help you," the Mexican replied.

"You really are a direct descendant of an Aztec warrior?" Joe asked. When the man nodded, the young sleuth added, "Just a few days ago we heard of someone else who makes the same claim." Joe did not mention Mr Moore's will.

The Mexican gave a wide grin. "I have well educated rival for my position as pure descendant. I have never seen him, but I know his name - Seсor Tatloc."

"Where does he live?" Frank questioned quickly.

"I do not know. He travels round a lot digging."

"You mean he is an archaeologist?" Frank queried.

"That is right."

The Hardys asked several other questions, but the Mexican was unable to answer any of them. Finally they said goodbye and went to the waiting-room.

"For Pete's sake, where have you fellows been?" said Chet. "I thought you'd flown off without me!"

"It would have served you right," Joe needled. "If you keep on eating, Chet, you'll be so overweight they won't take you on the plane."

"Oh, all right, all right," said Chet. "Now tell me what you've been doing." He was astounded upon learning that his friends had picked up a good clue.

"Seсor Tatloc, eh?" he repeated. Then he gave a great sigh. "I can just see you fellows making me climb all over those crumbly old ruins!"

The boys' plane finally took off. After a delicious meal on board, they fell asleep. It was Sunday morning when they woke, and the stewardess announced that they would land at Mexico City airport in twenty minutes. The boys quickly washed, combed their hair and straightened their rumpled suits. Then they watched from the windows as the great plane circled and came in to land.

"Let's take a taxi into town," Frank suggested. "We'll get the driver to show us some of the interesting sights as we go along."

They found a taxi driver who grinned in delight when he found the boys spoke his native tongue. He said he would be honoured to take his passengers on a sightseeing trip before delivering them to their hotel.