CHAPTER XIIDICK KEEPS HIS PROMISE
Twinkling points of light that pierced the darkness lower down the hill marked the colored laborers’ camp, and voices came up faintly through the still air. The range cut off the land breeze, though now and then a wandering draught flickered down the hollow spanned by the dam, and a smell of hot earth and damp jungle hung about the veranda of Dick’s iron shack. He sat near a lamp, with a drawing-board on his knee, while Jake lounged in a canvas chair, smoking and occasionally glancing at the sheet of figures in his hand. His expression was gloomily resigned.
“I suppose you’ll have things ready for us in the morning,” Dick said presently.
“François’ accounts are checked and I’m surprised to find them right, but I imagine the other calculations will not be finished. Anyhow, it won’t make much difference whether they are or not. I guess you know that!”
“Well, of course, if you can’t manage to do the lot——”
“I don’t say it’s impossible,” Jake rejoined. “But beginning work before breakfast is bad enough, without going on after dinner. Understand that I don’t question your authority to find me a job at night; it’s your object that makes me kick.”
“We want the calculations made before we set the boys to dig.”
“Then why didn’t you give me them when I was doing nothing this afternoon?” Jake inquired.
“I hadn’t got the plans ready.”
“Just so. You haven’t had things ready for me until after dinner all this week. As you’re a methodical fellow that’s rather strange. Still, if you really want the job finished, I’ll have to do my best, but I’m going out first for a quarter of an hour.”
“You needn’t,” Dick said dryly. “If you mean to tell the engineer not to wait, he’s gone. I sent him off some time since.”
“Of course you had a right to send him off,” Jake replied in an injured tone. “But I don’t quite think——”
“You know what your father pays for coal. Have you reckoned what it costs to keep a locomotive two or three hours for the purpose of taking you to Santa Brigida and back?”
“I haven’t, but I expect the old man wouldn’t stand for my running a private car,” Jake admitted. “However, it’s the only way of getting into town.”
“You were there three nights last week. What’s more, you tried to draw your next month’s wages. That struck me as significant, though I’d fortunately provided against it.”
“So I found out. I suppose I ought to be grateful for your thoughtfulness but can’t say I am. I wanted the money because I had a run of wretched luck.”
“At the casino?”
“No,” said Jake, shortly.
“Then you were at Kenwardine’s; I’ll own that’swhat I wanted to prevent. He’s a dangerous man and his house is no place for you.”
“One would hardly expect you to speak against him. Considering everything, it’s perhaps not quite in good taste.”
Dick put down the drawing-board and looked at him steadily. “It’s very bad taste. In fact, I find myself in a very awkward situation. Your father gave me a fresh start when I needed it badly, and agreed when your sister put you in my charge.”
“Ida’s sometimes a bit officious,” Jake remarked.
“Well,” Dick continued, “I promised to look after you, and although I didn’t know what I was undertaking, the promise must be kept. It’s true that Kenwardine afterwards did me a great service; but his placing me under an obligation doesn’t relieve me from the other, which I’d incurred first.”
Somewhat to his surprise, Jake nodded agreement. “No, not from your point of view. But what makes you think Kenwardineisdangerous?”
“I can’t answer. You had better take it for granted that I know what I’m talking about, and keep away from him.”
“As a matter of fact, it was Miss Kenwardine to whom you owed most,” Jake said meaningly. “Do you suggest that she’s dangerous, too?”
Dick frowned and his face got red, but he said nothing, and Jake resumed: “There’s a mystery about the matter and you know more than you intend to tell; but if you blame the girl for anything, you’re absolutely wrong. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll show you what I mean.”
He went into the shack and came back with a drawing-blockwhich he stood upon the table under the lamp, and Dick saw that it was a water-color portrait of Clare Kenwardine. He did not know much about pictures, but it was obvious that Jake had talent. The girl stood in the patio, with a pale-yellow wall behind her, over which a vivid purple creeper trailed. Her lilac dress showed the graceful lines of her slender figure against the harmonious background, and matched the soft blue of her eyes and the delicate white and pink of her skin. The patio was flooded with strong sunlight, but the girl looked strangely fresh and cool.
“I didn’t mean to show you this, but it’s the best way of explaining what I think,” Jake said with some diffidence. “I’m weak in technique, because I haven’t been taught, but I imagine I’ve got sensibility. It’s plain that when you paint a portrait you must study form and color, but there’s something else that you can only feel. I don’t mean the character that’s expressed by the mouth and eyes; it’s something vague and elusive that psychologists give you a hint of when they talk about theaura. Of course you can’t paint it, but unless it, so to speak, glimmers through the work, your portrait’s dead.”
“I don’t quite understand; but sometimes things do give you an impression you can’t analyze,” Dick replied.
“Well, allowing for poor workmanship, all you see here’s harmonious. The blues and purples and yellows tone, and yet, if I’ve got the hot glare of the sun right, you feel that the figure’s exotic and doesn’t belong to the scene. The latter really needs an olive-skinned daughter of the passionate South; but thegirl I’ve painted ought to walk in the moonlight through cool forest glades.”
Dick studied the picture silently, for he remembered with disturbing emotion that he had felt what Jake suggested when he first met Clare Kenwardine. She was frank, but somehow remote and aloof; marked by a strange refinement he could find no name for. He was glad that Jake did not seem to expect him to speak, but after a few moments the latter wrapped up the portrait and took it away. When he came back he lighted a cigarette.
“Now,” he said, “do you think it’s sensible to distrust a girl like that? Admitting that her father makes a few dollars by gambling, can you believe that living with him throws any taint on her?”
Dick hesitated. Clare had stolen his papers. This seemed impossible, but it was true. Yet when he looked up he answered as his heart urged him:
“No. It sounds absurd.”
“It is absurd,” Jake said firmly.
Neither spoke for the next minute, and then Dick frowned at a disturbing thought. Could the lad understand Clare so well unless he loved her?
“That picture must have taken some time to paint. Did Miss Kenwardine often pose for you?”
“No,” said Jake, rather dryly; “in fact, she didn’t really pose at all. I had trouble to get permission to make one or two quick sketches, and worked up the rest from memory.”
“Yet she let you sketch her. It was something of a privilege.”
Jake smiled in a curious way. “I think I see what you mean. Miss Kenwardine likes me, but although I’ve some artistic taste, I’m frankly flesh and blood;and that’s not quite her style. She finds me a little more in harmony with her than the rest, but this is all. Still, it’s something to me. Now you understand matters, perhaps you won’t take so much trouble to keep me out of Santa Brigida.”
“I’ll do my best to keep you away from Kenwardine,” Dick declared.
“Very well,” Jake answered with a grin. “You’re quite a good sort, though you’re not always very smart, and I can’t blame you for doing what you think is your duty.”
Then he set to work on his calculations and there was silence on the veranda.
Dick kept him occupied for the next week, and then prudently decided not to press the lad too hard by finding him work that obviously need not be done. If he was to preserve his power, it must be used with caution. The first evening Jake was free he started for Santa Brigida, though as there was no longer a locomotive available, he got two laborers to take him down the line on a hand-car. After that he had some distance to walk and arrived at Kenwardine’s powdered with dust. It was a hot night and he found Kenwardine and three or four others in the patio.
A small, shaded lamp stood upon the table they had gathered round, and the light sparkled on delicate green glasses and a carafe of wine. It touched the men’s white clothes, and then, cut off by the shade, left their faces in shadow and fell upon the tiles. A colored paper lantern, however, hung from a wire near an outside staircase and Jake saw Clare a short distance away. It looked as if she had stopped in crossing the patio, but as he came forward Kenwardine got up.
“It’s some time since we have seen you,” he remarked.
“Yes,” said Jake. “I meant to come before, but couldn’t get away.”
“Then you have begun to take your business seriously?”
“My guardian does.”
“Ah!” said Kenwardine, speaking rather louder, “if you mean Mr. Brandon, I certainly thought him a serious person. But what has this to do with your coming here?”
“He found me work that kept me busy evenings.”
“With the object of keeping you out of mischief?”
“I imagine he meant something of the kind,” Jake admitted with a chuckle. He glanced round, and felt he had been too frank, as his eyes rested on Clare. He could not see her face, but thought she was listening.
“Then it looks as if he believed we were dangerous people for you to associate with,” Kenwardine remarked, with a smile. “Well, I suppose we’re not remarkable for the conventional virtues.”
Jake, remembering Dick had insisted that Kenwardine was dangerous, felt embarrassed as he noted that Clare was now looking at him. To make things worse, he thought Kenwardine had meant her to hear.
“I expect he really was afraid of my going to the casino,” he answered as carelessly as he could.
“Though he would not be much relieved to find you had come to my house instead? Well, I suppose one must make allowances for the Puritan character.”
“Brandon isn’t much of a Puritan, and he’s certainly not a prig,” Jake objected.
Kenwardine laughed. “I’m not sure this explanationmakes things much better, but we’ll let it go. We were talking about the new water supply. It’s a harmless subject and you ought to be interested.”
Jake sat down and stole a glance at Clare as he drank a glass of wine. There was nothing to be learned from her face, but he was vexed with Kenwardine, who had intentionally involved him in an awkward situation. Jake admitted that he had not dealt with it very well. For all that, he began to talk about the irrigation works and the plans for bringing water to the town, and was relieved to see that Clare had gone when he next looked round.
As a matter of fact, Clare had quietly stolen away and was sitting on a balcony in the dark, tingling with anger and humiliation. She imagined that she had banished Brandon from her thoughts and was alarmed to find that he had still power to wound her. It had been a shock to learn he believed that she had stolen his papers; but he had now warned his companion against her father and no doubt herself. Jake’s manner when questioned had seemed to indicate this.
By and by she tried, not to make excuses for Brandon, but to understand his point of view, and was forced to admit that it was not unreasonable. Her father now and then allowed, or perhaps encouraged, his guests to play for high stakes, and she had hated to see the evening gatherings of extravagant young men at their house in England. Indeed, she had eagerly welcomed the change when he had offered to take her abroad because business necessitated his leaving the country. Things had been better at Santa Brigida, but after a time the card playing had begun again. The men who now came to their house were,however, of a different type from the rather dissipated youths she had previously met. They were quieter and more reserved; men of experience who had known adventure. Still, she disliked their coming and had sometimes felt she must escape from a life that filled her with repugnance. The trouble was that she did not know where to find a refuge and could not force herself to leave her father, who had treated her with good-humored indulgence.
Then she began to wonder what was the business that had brought him to Santa Brigida. He did not talk about it, but she was sure it was not gambling, as Brandon thought. No doubt he won some money from his friends, but it could not be much and he must lose at times. She must look for another explanation and it was hard to find. Men who did not play cards came to the house in the daytime and occasionally late at night, and Kenwardine, who wrote a good many letters, now and then went away down the coast. There was a mystery about his occupation that puzzled and vaguely alarmed her, and she could turn to nobody for advice. She had refused her aunt’s offer of a home and knew it would not be renewed. They had cast her off and done with her. Getting up presently with a troubled sigh, she went to her room.
In the meantime, Jake stayed in the patio with the others. A thin, dark Spaniard, who spoke English well, and two Americans occupied the other side of the table; a fat German sat nearly opposite the Spaniard and next to Jake. The heat made them languid and nobody wanted to play cards, although there was a pack on the table. This happened oftener than Brandon thought.
“It’s a depressing night and an enervating country,” Kenwardine remarked. “I wonder why we stay here as we do, since we’re apt to leave it as poor as when we came. The people are an unstable lot, and when you’ve spent your time and energy developing what you hope is a profitable scheme, some change of policy or leaders suddenly cuts it short.”
“I guess that explains why wearehere,” one of the Americans replied. “The South is the home of the dramatic surprise and this appeals to us. In the North, they act by rule and one knows, more or less, what will happen; but this gives one no chances to bet upon.”
The fat German nodded. “It is the gambler’s point of view. You people take with pleasure steep chances, as they say, but mine act not so. The system is better. One calculates beforehand what may happen and it is provided for. If things do not go as one expects, one labors to change them, and when this is not possible adopts an alternative plan.”
“But there always is a plan, Señor Richter!” the Spaniard remarked.
Richter smiled. “With us, I think that is true. Luck is more fickle than a woman and we like not the surprise. But our effort is to be prepared for it.”
“You’re a pretty hard crowd to run up against,” said the other American.
Jake, who had taken no part in the recent talk, and leaned languidly back in his chair, turned his head as he heard footsteps in the patio. They were quick and decided, as if somebody was coming straight towards the table, but they stopped suddenly. This seemed strange and Jake, who had caught a glimpse of a man in white clothes, looked round to see if Kenwardinehad made him a sign. The latter, however, was lighting his pipe, but the Spaniard leaned forward a little, as if trying to see across the patio. Jake thought he would find this difficult with the light of the lamp in his eyes, but Richter, who sat opposite, got up and reached across the table.
“With excuses, Don Sebastian, but the wine is on your side,” he said, and filled his glass from the decanter before he sat down.
In the meantime the man who had come in was waiting, but seemed to have moved, because Jake could only see an indistinct figure in the gloom.
“Is that you, Enrique?” Kenwardine asked when he had lighted his pipe.
“Sí, señor,” a voice answered, and Kenwardine made a sign of dismissal.
“Bueno!You can tell me about it to-morrow. I am engaged now.”
The footsteps began again and when they died away Kenwardine picked up the cards.
“Shall we play for half an hour?” he asked.
The others agreed, but the stakes were moderate and nobody took much interest in the game; and Jake presently left the house without seeing anything more of Clare. He felt he had wasted the evening, but as he walked back to the line he thought about the man whom Kenwardine had sent away. He did not think the fellow was one of the servants, and it seemed strange that Richter should have got up and stood in front of Don Sebastian when the latter was trying to see across the patio. Still, there was no apparent reason why the Spaniard should want to see who had come in, and Jake dismissed the matter.
CHAPTER XIIITHE RETURN FROM THE FIESTA
The sure-footed mules, braced hard against the weight of the carriage, slid down a steep descent across slippery stones when Clare, who wondered what would happen if the worn-out harness broke, rode into Adexe. Gleaming white houses rose one above another among feathery palms, with a broad streak of darker green in their midst to mark the shady alameda. Behind, the dark range towered against the sky; in front lay a foam-fringed beach and the vast blue sweep of dazzling sea. Music came up through the languid murmur of the surf, and the steep streets were filled with people whose clothes made patches of brilliant color. The carriage jolted safely down the hill, and Clare looked about with interest as they turned into the central plaza, where the driver stopped.
“It’s a picturesque little town and I’m glad you brought me,” she said. “But what does the fiesta they’re holding celebrate?”
“I don’t know; the first landing of the Spaniards, perhaps,” Kenwardine replied. “Anyhow, it’s a popular function, and as everybody in the neighborhood takes part in it, I came with the object of meeting some people I do business with. In fact, I may have to leave you for a time with the wife of a Spaniard whom I know.”
When coming down the hillside Clare had noticeda sugar mill and an ugly coaling wharf that ran out into the bay. Two steamers lay not far off, rolling gently on the glittering swell, and several lighters were moored against the wharf. Since she had never heard him speak of coal, she imagined her father’s business was with the sugar mill, but he seldom talked to her about such matters and she did not ask. He took her to an old, yellow house, with tarnished brass rails barring its lower windows and a marble fountain in the patio, where brilliant creepers hung from the balconies. The soft splash of falling water was soothing and the spray cooled the air.
“It is very pretty,” Clare said while they waited. “I wish we could make our patio like this.”
“We may be able to do so when Brandon and his friends bring us the water,” Kenwardine replied with a quick glance at the girl. “Have you seen him recently?”
“Not for three or four weeks,” said Clare.
There was nothing to be learned from her face, but Kenwardine noted a hint of coldness in her voice. Next moment, however, a stout lady in a black dress, and a thin, brown-faced Spaniard came down to meet them. Kenwardine presented Clare, and for a time they sat on a balcony, talking in a mixture of French and Castilian. Then a man came up the outside staircase and took off his hat as he turned to Kenwardine. He had a swarthy skin, but Clare carelessly remarked that the hollows about his eyes were darker than the rest of his face, as if they had been overlooked in a hurried wash, and his bare feet were covered with fine, black dust.
“Don Martin waits you, señor,” he said.
Kenwardine excused himself to his hostess, and after promising to return before long went away with the man.
“Who is Don Martin, and does he own the coaling wharf?” Clare asked.
“No,” said the Spaniard. “What makes you imagine so?”
“There was some coal-dust on his messenger.”
The Spaniard laughed. “Your eyes are as keen as they are bright, señorita, but your father spoke of business and he does not deal in coal. They use it for the engine at the sugar mill.”
“Could I follow him to the mill? I would like to see how they extract the sugar from the cane.”
“It is not a good day for that; the machinery will not be running,” said the Spaniard, who looked at his wife.
“I meant to take you to the cathedral. Everybody goes on the fiesta,” the lady broke in.
Clare agreed. She suspected that her father had not gone to the sugar mill, but this did not matter, and she presently left the house with her hostess. The small and rather dark cathedral was crowded, and Clare, who understood very little of what went on, was impressed by the close rows of kneeling figures, while the candles glimmering through the incense, and the music, had their effect. She came out in a thoughtful mood, partly dazzled by the change of light, and it was with something of a shock she stopped to avoid collision with a man at the bottom of the steps. It was Brandon, and she noted that he looked well again, but although they were face to face and he waited with his eyes fixed on her, she turned away and spoketo her companion. Dick crossed the street with his hand clenched and his face hot, but felt that he had deserved his rebuff. He could not expect Miss Kenwardine to meet him as a friend.
An hour or two later, Kenwardine returned to the house with Richter, the German, and said he found he must drive to a village some distance off to meet an official whom he had expected to see in the town. He doubted if he could get back that night, but a sailing barquillo would take passengers to Santa Brigida, and Clare could go home by her. The girl made no objection when she heard that two French ladies, whom she knew, were returning by the boat, and stayed with her hostess when Kenwardine and Richter left. Towards evening the Spaniard came in and stated that the barquillo had sailed earlier than had been announced, but a steam launch was going to Santa Brigida with some friends of his on board and he could get Clare a passage if she would sooner go. Señor Kenwardine, he added, might drive home by another road without calling there again.
Half an hour later Clare went with him to the coaling wharf, where a launch lay at some steps. A few people were already on board, and her host left after putting her in charge of a Spanish lady. The girl imagined that he was glad to get rid of her, and thought there was something mysterious about her father’s movements. Something he had not expected must have happened, because he would not have brought her if he had known he could not take her home. It was, however, not a long run to Santa Brigida, by sea, and the launch, which had a powerful engine, looked fast.
In another few minutes a man came down the steps and threw off a rope before he jumped on board. Taking off his hat to the passengers, he started the engine and sat down at the helm. Clare did not see his face until the launch was gliding away from the wharf, and then hid her annoyance and surprise, for it was Brandon. His eyes rested on her for a moment as he glanced about the boat, but she saw he did not expect recognition. Perhaps she had been wrong when she passed him outside the cathedral, but it was now too late to change her attitude.
The water was smooth, the sun had sunk behind the range, and a warm breeze that ruffled the shining surface with silky ripples blew off the shore. The rumble of the surf came in a deep undertone through the throb of the engine, and the launch sped on with a frothy wave curling at her bows. Now and then Clare glanced quickly at the helmsman, who sat with his arm thrown round the tiller. She thought he looked disturbed, and felt sorry, though she told herself that she had done the proper thing.
After a time the launch swung in towards the beach and stopped at a rude landing behind a reef. Houses showed among the trees not far off and Clare thought this was the pueblo of Arenas. Then she was disturbed to see that all her companions were going to land. When the Spanish lady said good-by she got up, with the idea of following the rest, but Dick stopped her.
“Do you expect Mr. Kenwardine to meet you?” he asked.
“No. I was told the launch was going to Santa Brigida, but didn’t know that she was yours.”
Dick eyes twinkled. “I am going to Santa Brigida and the boat is one we use, but my colored fireman refused to leave the fiesta. Now you can’t stay at Arenas, and I doubt if you can get a mule to take you home, because they’ll all have gone to Adexe. But, if you like, we’ll go ashore and try.”
“You don’t think I could find a carriage?” Clare asked irresolutely, seeing that if she now showed herself determined to avoid him, it would be humiliating to be forced to fall back upon his help.
“I don’t. Besides, it’s some distance to Santa Brigida over a rough, steep road that you’d find very awkward in the dark, while as I can land you in an hour, it seems unnecessary for you to leave the boat here.”
“Yes,” said Clare, “perhaps it is.”
Dick threw some coal into the furnace, and restarted the launch. The throb of the engine was quicker than before, and when a jet of steam blew away from the escape-pipe Clare imagined that he meant to lose no time. She glanced at him as he sat at the helm with a moody face; and then away at the black hills that slid past. The silence was embarrassing and she wondered whether he would break it. On the whole, she wanted him to do so, but would give him no help.
“Of course,” he said at length, “you needn’t talk if you’d sooner not. But you gave me the cut direct in Adexe, and although I may have deserved it, it hurt.”
“I don’t see why it should hurt,” Clare answered coldly.
“Don’t you?” he asked. “Well, you have the rightto choose your acquaintances; but I once thought we were pretty good friends and I mightn’t have got better if you hadn’t taken care of me. That ought to count for something.”
Clare blushed, but her eyes sparkled and her glance was steady. “If we are to have an explanation, it must be complete and without reserve. Very well! Why did you change when you were getting better? And why did you hint that I must know you hadn’t stolen the plans?”
Dick studied her with some surprise. He had thought her gentle and trustful, but saw that she burned with imperious anger. It certainly was not acting and contradicted the supposition of her guilt.
“If I did hint anything of the kind, I must have been a bit light-headed,” he answered awkwardly. “You get morbid fancies when you have fever.”
“The fever had nearly gone. You were braver then than you seem to be now.”
“I suppose that’s true. Sometimes a shock gives you pluck and I got a nasty one as I began to remember things.”
Both were silent for the next few moments. Clare’s pose was tense and her look strained, but her anger had vanished. Dick thought she was calmer than himself, but after all, she was, so to speak, on her defense and her part was easier than his. He had forgiven her for robbing him; Kenwardine had forced her to do so, and Dick regretted he had not hidden his knowledge of the deed she must have hated. It was bodily weakness that had led him to show his suspicion, but he knew that if they were to be friends again no reserve was possible. As Clare had said, the explanationmust be complete. It was strange, after what had happened, that he should want her friendship, but he did want it, more than anything else. Yet she must be told plainly what he had thought her. He shrank from the task.
“What did you remember?” Clare asked, forcing herself to look at him.
“That I had the plans in the left, top pocket of my uniform when I reached your house; I felt to see if they were there as I came up the drive,” he answered doggedly. “Soon afterward, you slipped as we went down the steps into the garden and in clutching me your hand caught and pulled the pocket open. It was a deep pocket and the papers could not have fallen out.”
“So you concluded that I had stolen them!” Clare said in a cold, strained voice, though her face flushed crimson.
“What else could I think?”
Then, though she tried to hide the breakdown, Clare’s nerve gave way. She had forced the crisis in order to clear herself, but saw that she could not do so. Dick’s statement was convincing; the papers had been stolen while he was in their house, and she had a horrible suspicion that her father was the thief. It came with a shock, though she had already been tormented by a vague fear of the truth that she had resolutely refused to face. She remembered the men who were at the house on the eventful night. They were somewhat dissipated young sportsmen and not remarkable for intelligence. None of them was likely to take part in such a plot.
“You must understand what a serious thing you aresaying,” she faltered, trying to doubt him and finding that she could not.
“I do,” he said, regarding her with gravely pitiful eyes. “Still, you rather forced it out of me. Perhaps this is a weak excuse, because I had meant to forget the matter.”
“But didn’t you want to clear yourself and get taken back?”
“No; I knew it was too late. I’d shown I couldn’t be trusted with an important job; and I’d made a fresh start here.”
His answer touched the girl, and after a quick half-ashamed glance, she thought she had misjudged him. It was not her physical charm that had made him willing to condone her offense, for he showed none of the bold admiration she had shrunk from in other men. Instead, he was compassionate and, she imagined, anxious to save her pain.
She did not answer and turning her head, vacantly watched the shore slide past. The mountains were growing blacker, trails of mist that looked like gauze gathered in the ravines, and specks of light began to pierce the gloom ahead. They marked Santa Brigida, and something must still be said before the launch reached port. It was painful that Brandon should take her guilt for granted, but she feared to declare her innocence.
“You were hurt when I passed you at Adexe,” she remarked, without looking at him. “You must, however, see that friendship between us is impossible while you think me a thief.”
“I must try to explain,” Dick said slowly. “When I recovered my senses at your house after being ill,I felt I must get away as soon as possible, though I ought to have remembered only that you had taken care of me. Still, you see, my mind was weak just then. Afterwards I realized how ungratefully I had behaved. The plans didn’t matter; they weren’t really of much importance, and I knew if you had taken them, it was because you were forced. That made all the difference; in a way, you were not to blame. I’m afraid,” he concluded lamely, “I haven’t made it very clear.”
Clare was moved by his naïve honesty, which seemed to be guarded by something finer than common sense. After all, he had made things clear. He owned that he believed she had taken the plans, and yet he did not think her a thief. On the surface, this was rather involved, but she saw what he meant. Still, it did not carry them very far.
“It is not long since you warned Mr. Fuller against us,” she resumed.
“Not against you; that would have been absurd. However, Jake’s something of a gambler and your father’s friends play for high stakes. The lad was put in my hands by people who trusted me to look after him. I had to justify their confidence.”
“Of course. But you must understand that my father and I stand together. What touches him, touches me.”
Dick glanced ahead. The lights of Santa Brigida had drawn out in a broken line, and those near the beach were large and bright. A hundred yards away, two twinkling, yellow tracks stretched across the water from the shadowy bulk of a big cargo boat. Farther on, he could see the black end of the mole washed byfrothy surf. There was little time for further talk and no excuse for stopping the launch.
“That’s true in a sense,” he agreed with forced quietness. “I’ve done you an injustice, Miss Kenwardine; so much is obvious, but I can’t understand the rest just yet. I suppose I mustn’t ask you to forget the line I took?”
“We can’t be friends as if nothing had happened.”
Dick made a gesture of moody acquiescence. “Well, perhaps something will clear up the matter by and by. I must wait, because while it’s difficult now, I feel it will come right.”
A minute or two later he ran the launch alongside a flight of steps on the mole, and helping Clare to land went with her to her house. They said nothing on the way, but she gave him her hand when he left her at the door.
CHAPTER XIVCOMPLICATIONS
It was dark outside the feeble lamplight, and very hot, when Dick sat on his veranda after a day of keen activity in the burning sun. He felt slack and jaded, for he had had difficult work to do and his dusky laborers had flagged under the unusual heat. There was now no touch of coolness in the stagnant air, and although the camp down the valley was very quiet a confused hum of insects came out of the jungle. It rose and fell with a monotonous regularity that jarred upon Dick’s nerves as he forced himself to think.
He was in danger of falling in love with Clare Kenwardine; indeed, he suspected that it would be better to face the truth and admit that he had already done so. The prudent course would be to fight against and overcome his infatuation; but suppose he found this impossible, as he feared? It seemed certain that she had stolen his papers; but after all he did not hold her accountable. Some day he would learn more about the matter and find that she was blameless. He had been a fool to think harshly of her, but he knew now that his first judgment was right. Clare, who could not have done anything base and treacherous, was much too good for him. This, however, was not the subject with which he meant to occupy himself, becauseif he admitted that he hoped to marry Clare, there were serious obstacles in his way.
To begin with, he had made it difficult, if not impossible, for the girl to treat him with the friendliness she had previously shown; besides which, Kenwardine would, no doubt, try to prevent his meeting her, and his opposition would be troublesome. Then it was plainly desirable that she should be separated from her father, who might involve her in his intrigues, because there was ground for believing that he was a dangerous man. In the next place, Dick was far from being able to support a wife accustomed to the extravagance that Kenwardine practised. It might be long before he could offer her the lowest standard of comfort necessary for an Englishwoman in a hot, foreign country.
He felt daunted, but not altogether hopeless, and while he pondered the matter Bethune came in. On the whole, Dick found his visit a relief.
“I expect you’ll be glad to hear we can keep the machinery running,” Bethune said as he sat down.
Dick nodded. Their fuel was nearly exhausted, for owing to strikes and shortage of shipping Fuller had been unable to keep them supplied.
“Then you have got some coal? As there’s none at Santa Brigida just now, where’s it coming from?”
“Adexe. Four big lighter loads. Stuyvesant has given orders to have them towed round.”
“I understood the Adexe people didn’t keep a big stock. The wharf is small.”
“So did I, but it seems that Kenwardine came to Stuyvesant and offered him as much as he wanted.”
“Kenwardine!” Dick exclaimed.
Bethune lighted his pipe. “Yes, Kenwardine. As the wharf’s supposed to be owned by Spaniards, I don’t see what he has to do with it, unless he’s recently bought them out. Anyhow, it’s high-grade navigation coal.”
“Better stuff than we need, but the difference in price won’t matter if we can keep the concrete mill going,” Dick remarked thoughtfully. “Still, it’s puzzling. If Kenwardine has bought the wharf, why’s he sending the coal away, instead of using it in the regular bunkering trade?”
“There’s a hint of mystery about the matter. I expect you heard about the collier tramp that was consigned to the French company at Arucas? Owing to some dispute, they wouldn’t take the cargo and the shippers put it on the market. Fuller tried to buy some, but found that another party had got the lot. Well, Stuyvesant believes it was the German, Richter, who bought it up.”
“Jake tells me that Richter’s a friend of Kenwardine’s.”
“I didn’t know about that,” said Bethune. “They may have bought the cargo for some particular purpose, for which they afterwards found it wouldn’t be required, and now want to sell some off.”
“Then Kenwardine must have more money than I thought.”
“The money may be Richter’s,” Bethune replied. “However, since we’ll now have coal enough to last until Fuller sends some out, I don’t know that we have any further interest in the matter.”
He glanced keenly at Dick’s thoughtful face; and then, as the latter did not answer, talked about somethingelse until he got up to go. After he had gone, Dick leaned back in his chair with a puzzled frown. He had met Richter and rather liked him, but the fellow was a German, and it was strange that he should choose an English partner for his speculations, as he seemed to have done. But while Kenwardine was English, Dick’s papers had been stolen at his house, and his distrust of the man grew stronger. There was something suspicious about this coal deal, but he could not tell exactly what his suspicions pointed to, and by and by he took up the plan of a culvert they were to begin next morning.
A few days later, Jake and he sat, one night, in the stern of the launch, which lay head to sea about half a mile from the Adexe wharf. The promised coal had not arrived, and, as fuel was running very short at the concrete mill, Dick had gone to see that a supply was sent. It was late when he reached Adexe, and found nobody in authority about, but three loaded lighters were moored at the wharf, and a gang of peons were trimming the coal that was being thrown on board another. Ahead of the craft lay a small tug with steam up. As the half-breed foreman declared that he did not know whether the coal was going to Santa Brigida or not, Dick boarded the tug and found her Spanish captain drinking caña with his engineer. Dick thought one looked at the other meaningly as he entered the small, hot cabin.
“I suppose it’s Señor Fuller’s coal in the barges, and we’re badly in want of it,” he said. “As you have steam up, you’ll start soon.”
“We start, yes,” answered the skipper, who spoke some English, and then paused and shrugged. “Ido not know if we get to Santa Brigida to-night.”
“Why?” Dick asked. “There’s not very much wind, and it’s partly off the land.”
The half-breed engineer described in uncouth Castilian the difficulties he had had with a defective pump and leaking glands, and Dick, who did not understand much of it, went back to his launch. Stopping the craft a short distance from the harbor, he said to Jake: “We’ll wait until they start. Somehow I don’t think they meant to leave to-night if I hadn’t turned them out.”
Jake looked to windward. There was a moon in the sky, which was, however, partly obscured by driving clouds. The breeze was strong, but, blowing obliquely off the land did not ruffle the sea much near the beach. A long swell, however, worked in, and farther out the white tops of the combers glistened in the moonlight. Now and then a fresher gust swept off the shadowy coast and the water frothed in angry ripples about the launch.
“They ought to make Santa Brigida, though they’ll find some sea running when they reach off-shore to go round the Tajada reef,” he remarked.
“There’s water enough through the inside channel.”
“That’s so,” Jake agreed. “Still, it’s narrow and bad to find in the dark, and I expect the skipper would sooner go outside.” Then he glanced astern and said, “They’re coming out.”
Two white lights, one close above the other, with a pale red glimmer below, moved away from the wharf. Behind them three or four more twinkling red spots appeared, and Dick told the fireman to startthe engine half-speed. Steering for the beach, he followed the fringe of surf, but kept abreast of the tug, which held to a course that would take her round the end of the reef.
When the moon shone through he could see her plunge over the steep swell and the white wash at the lighters’ bows as they followed in her wake; then as a cloud drove past, their dark hulls faded and left nothing but a row of tossing lights. By and by the launch reached a bend in the coastline and the breeze freshened and drew more ahead. The swell began to break and showers of spray blew on board, while the sea got white off-shore.
“We’ll get it worse when we open up the Arenas bight,” said Jake as he glanced at the lurching tug. “It looks as if the skipper meant to give the reef a wide berth. He’s swinging off to starboard. Watch his smoke.”
“You have done some yachting, then?”
“I have,” said Jake. “I used to sail a shoal-draught sloop on Long Island Sound. Anyway, if I’d been towing those coal-scows, I’d have edged in near the beach, for the sake of smoother water, and wouldn’t have headed out until I saw the reef. It will be pretty wet on board the scows now, and they’ll have had to put a man on each to steer.”
Dick nodded agreement and signed the fireman to turn on more steam as he followed the tug outshore. The swell got steadily higher and broke in angry surges. The launch plunged, and rattled as she swung her screw out of the sea, but Dick kept his course abreast of the tug, which he could only distinguish at intervals between the clouds of spray. Her mastheadlights reeled wildly to and fro, but the low red gleam from the barges was hidden and he began to wonder why her captain was steering out so far. It was prudent not to skirt the reef, but the fellow seemed to be giving it unnecessary room. The lighters would tow badly through the white, curling sea, and there was a risk of the hawsers breaking. Besides, the engineer had complained that his machinery was not running well.
A quarter of an hour later, a belt of foam between them and the land marked the reef, and the wind brought off the roar of breaking surf. Soon afterwards, the white surge faded, and only the tug’s lights were left as a long cloud-bank drove across the moon. Jake stood up, shielding his eyes from the spray.
“He’s broken his rope; the coal’s adrift!” he cried.
Dick saw the tug’s lights vanish, which meant that she had turned with her stern towards the launch; and then two or three twinkling specks some distance off.
“He’d tow the first craft with a double rope, a bridle from his quarters,” he said. “It’s strange that both parts broke, and, so far as I can make out, the tail barge has parted her hawser, too.”
A whistle rang out, and Dick called for full-speed as the tug’s green light showed.
“We’ll help him to pick up the barges,” he remarked.
The moon shone out as they approached the nearest, and a bright beam swept across the sea until it touched the lurching craft. Her wet side glistened about a foot above the water and then vanished as a white surge lapped over it and washed across herdeck. A rope trailed from her bow and her long tiller jerked to and fro. It was obvious that she was adrift with nobody on board, and Dick cautiously steered the launch towards her.
“That’s curious, but perhaps the rest drove foul of her and the helmsman lost his nerve and jumped,” he said. “I’ll put Maccario on board to give us the hawser.”
“Then I’ll go with him,” Jake offered. “He can’t handle the big rope alone.”
Dick hesitated. It was important that they should not lose the coal, but he did not want to give the lad a dangerous task. The barge was rolling wildly and he durst not run alongside, while some risk would attend a jump across the three or four feet of water between the craft.
“I think you’d better stop here,” he objected.
“I don’t,” Jake answered with a laugh. “Guess you’ve got to be logical. You want the coal, and it will take us both to save it.”
He followed the fireman, who stood, balancing himself for a spring, on the forward deck, while Dick let the launch swing in as close as he thought safe. The man leapt and Dick watched Jake with keen anxiety as the launch rose with the next comber, but the lad sprang off as the bows went up, and came down with a splash in the water that flowed across the lighter’s deck. Then Dick caught the line thrown him and with some trouble dragged the end of the hawser on board. He was surprised to find that it was not broken, but he waved his hand to the others as he drove the launch ahead, steering for the beach, near which he expected to find a passage through the reef.
Before he had gone far the tug steamed towards him with the other barges in tow, apparently bound for Adexe.
“It is not possible to go on,” the skipper hailed. “Give me a rope; we take the lighter.”
“You shan’t take her to Adexe,” Dick shouted. “We want the coal.”
Though there was danger in getting too close, the captain let the tug drift nearer.
“We bring you the lot when the wind drops.”
“No,” said Dick, “I’ll stick to what I’ve got.”
He could not catch the captain’s reply as the tug forged past, but it sounded like an exclamation of anger or surprise, and he looked anxiously for the foam upon the reef. It was some time before he distinguished a glimmer in the dark, for the moon was hidden and his progress was slow. The lighter was big and heavily laden, and every now and then her weight, putting a sudden strain on the hawser, jerked the launch to a standstill. It was worse when, lifting with the swell, she sheered off at an angle to her course, and Dick was forced to maneuver with helm and engine to bring her in line again, at some risk of fouling the hawser with the screw. He knew little about towing, but he had handled small sailing boats before he learned to use the launch. The coal was badly needed and must be taken to Santa Brigida, though an error of judgment might lead to the loss of the barge and perhaps of his comrade’s life.
The phosphorescent gleam of the surf got plainer and the water smoother, for the reef was now to windward and broke the sea, but the moon was still covered, and Dick felt some tension as he skirted thebarrier. He did not know if he could find the opening or tow the lighter through the narrow channel. The surf, however, was of help, for it flashed into sheets of spangled radiance as it washed across the reef, leaving dark patches among the lambent foam. The patches had a solid look, and Dick knew that they were rocks.
At length he saw a wider break in the belt of foam, and the sharper plunging of the launch showed that the swell worked through. This was the mouth of the channel, and there was water enough to float the craft if he could keep off the rocks. Snatching the engine-lamp from its socket, he waved it and blew the whistle. A shout reached him and showed that the others understood.
Dick felt his nerves tingle when he put the helm over and the hawser tightened as the lighter began to swing. If she took too wide a sweep, he might be unable to check her before she struck the reef, and there seemed to be a current flowing through the gap. Glancing astern for a moment, he saw her dark hull swing through a wide curve while the strain on the hawser dragged the launch’s stern down, but she came round and the tension slackened as he steered up the channel.
For a time he had less trouble than he expected; but the channel turned at its outer end and wind and swell would strike at him at an awkward angle, when he took the bend. As he entered it, the moon shone out, and he saw the black top of a rock dangerously close to leeward. He waved the lantern, but the lighter, with sea and current on her weather bow, forged almost straight ahead, and the straining hawserdragged the launch back. Reaching forward, Dick opened the throttle valve to its limit, and then sat grim and still while the throb of the screw shook the trembling hull. Something would happen in the next half minute unless he could get the lighter round. Glancing back, he saw her low, wet side shine in the moonlight. Two dark figures stood aft by the tiller, and he thought the foam about the rock was only a fathom or two away.
The launch was hove down on her side. Though the screw thudded furiously, she seemed to gain no ground, and then the strain on the hawser suddenly slackened. Dick wondered whether it had broken, but he would know in the next few seconds; there was a sharp jerk, the launch was dragged to leeward, but recovered and forged ahead. She plunged her bows into a broken swell and the spray filled Dick’s eyes, but when he could see again the foam was sliding past and a gap widened between the lighter’s hull and the white wash on the rock.
The water was deep ahead, and since he could skirt the beach and the wind came strongly off the land, the worst of his difficulties seemed to be past. Still, it would be a long tow to Santa Brigida, and bracing himself for the work, he lit his pipe.