Dick nodded, because he understood the unfortunate position of the white man who loses caste in a tropical country. An Englishman or American may engage in manual labor where skill is required and the pay is high, but he must live up to the standards of his countrymen. If forced to work with natives and adopt their mode of life, he risks being distrusted and avoided by men of his color. Remembering that Payne had interfered when he was stabbed, Dick had made some inquiries about him, but getting no information decided that he had left the town.

"Then he's lodging in this street," he said.

"That's what they told me at the wine-shop. He had to quit the last place because he couldn't pay."

"Wasn't he with Oliva?" Dick inquired.

"He was, but Oliva turned him down. I allow it was all right to fire him, but he's surely up against it now."

Dick put his hand in his pocket. "If you find him, you might let me know. In the meantime, here's five dollars——"

"Hold on!" said Kemp. "Don't take out your wallet here. I'll fix the thing, and ask for the money when I get back."

Dick left him, and when he had transacted his business returned to the dam. An hour or two later Kemp arrived and stated that he had not succeeded in finding Payne. The man had left the squalid room he occupied and nobody knew where he had gone.

During the next week Dick had again occasion to visit the harbor, and while he waited on the mole for a boat watched a gang of peons unloading some fertilizer from a barge. It was hard and unpleasant work, for the stuff, which had a rank smell, escaped from the bags and covered the perspiring men. The dust stuck to their hot faces, almost hiding their color; but one, though equally dirty, looked different from the rest, and Dick, noting that he only used his left arm, drew nearer. As he did so, the man walked up the steep plank from the lighter with a bag upon his back and staggering across the mole dropped it with a gasp. His heaving chest and set face showed what the effort had cost, and the smell of the fertilizer hung about his ragged clothes. Dick saw that it was Payne and that the fellow knew him.

"You have got a rough job," he remarked. "Can't you find something better?"

"Nope," said the man grimly. "Do you reckon I'd pack dirt with a crowd like this if I could help it?"

Dick, who glanced at the lighter, where half-naked negroes and mulattos were at work amid a cloud of nauseating dust, understood the social degradation the other felt.

"What's the matter with your arm?" he asked.

Payne pulled up his torn sleeve and showed an inflamed and half-healed wound.

"That! Got it nipped in a crane-wheel and it doesn't get much better. Guess this dirt is poisonous. Anyway, it keeps me here. I've been trying to make enough to buy a ticket to Jamaica, but can't work steady. As soon as I've put up two or three dollars, I have to quit."

Dick could understand this. The man looked gaunt and ill and must have been heavily handicapped by his injured arm. He did not seem anxious to excite Dick's pity, though the latter did not think he cherished much resentment.

"I tried to find you when I got better after being stabbed," he said. "I don't quite see why you came to my help."

Payne grinned sourly. "You certainly hadn't much of a claim; but you were a white man and that dago meant to kill. Now if I'd held my job with Fuller and you hadn't dropped on to Oliva's game, I'd have made my little pile; but I allow you had to fire us when something put you wise."

"I see," said Dick, with a smile at the fellow's candor. "Well, I couldn't trust you with the cement again, but we're short of a man to superintend a peon gang and I'll talk to Mr. Stuyvesant about it if you'll tell me your address."

Payne gave him a fixed, eager look. "You get me the job and take me out of this and you won't be sorry. I'll make it good to you—and I reckon I can."

Dick, who thought the other's anxiety to escape from his degrading occupation had prompted his last statement, turned away, saying he would see what could be done, and in the evening visited Stuyvesant. Bethune was already with him, and Dick told them how he had found Payne.

"You felt you had to promise the fellow a job because he butted in when the dagos got after you?" Stuyvesant suggested.

"No," said Dick with some embarrassment, "it wasn't altogether that. He certainly did help me, but I can't pass my obligations on to my employer. If you think he can't be trusted, I'll pay his passage to another port."

"Well, I don't know that if I had the option I'd take the fellow out of jail, so long as he was shut up decently out of sight; but this is worse, in a way. What do you think, Bethune?"

Bethune smiled. "You ought to know. I'm a bit of a philosopher, but when you stir my racial feelings I'm an American first. The mean white's a troublesome proposition at home, but we can't afford to exhibit him to the dagos here." He turned to Dick. "That's our attitude, Brandon, and though you were not long in our country, you seem to sympathize with it. I don't claim it's quite logical, but there it is! We're white and different."

"Do you want me to hire the man?" Stuyvesant asked with an impatient gesture.

"Yes," said Dick.

"Then put him on. If he steals anything, I'll hold you responsible and ship him out on the next cement boat, whether he wants to go or not."

Next morning Dick sent word to Payne, who arrived at the dam soon afterwards and did his work satisfactorily. On the evening of the first pay-day he went to Santa Brigida, but Dick, who watched him in the morning, noted somewhat to his surprise, that he showed no signs of dissipation. When work stopped at noon he heard a few pistol shots, but was told on inquiring that it was only one or two of the men shooting at a mark. A few days afterwards he found it necessary to visit Santa Brigida. Since Bethune confined his talents to constructional problems and languidly protested that he had no aptitude for commerce, much of the company's minor business gradually fell into Dick's hands. As a rule, he went to the town in the evening, after he had finished at the dam. While a hand-car was being got ready to take him down the line, Payne came up to the veranda, where Dick sat with Jake.

"You're going down town, Mr. Brandon," he said. "Have you got a gun?"

"I have not," said Dick.

Payne pulled out an automatic pistol. "Then you'd better take mine. I bought her, second-hand, with my first pay, but she's pretty good. I reckon you can shoot?"

"A little," said Dick, who had practised with the British army revolver. "Still I don't carry a pistol."

"You ought," Payne answered meaningly, and walking to the other end of the veranda stuck a scrap of white paper on a post. "Say, suppose you try her? I want to see you put a pill through that."

Dick was surprised by the fellow's persistence, but there is a fascination in shooting at a target, and when Jake urged him he took the pistol. Steadying it with stiffened wrist and forearm, he fired but hit the post a foot below the paper.

"You haven't allowed for the pull-off, and you're slow," Payne remarked. "You want to sight high, with a squeeze on the trigger, and then catch her on the drop."

He took the pistol and fixed his eyes on the paper before he moved. Then his arm went up suddenly and the glistening barrel pointed above the mark. There was a flash as his wrist dropped and a black spot appeared near the middle of the paper.

"Use her like that! You'd want a mighty steady hand to hold her dead on the mark while you pull off."

"Sit down and tell us why you think Mr. Brandon ought to have the pistol," Jake remarked. "I go to Santa Brigida now and then, but you haven't offered to lend it me."

Payne sat down on the steps and looked at him with a smile. "You're all right, Mr. Fuller. They're not after you."

"Then you reckon it wasn't me they wanted the night my partner was stabbed? I had the money."

"Nope," said Payne firmly. "I allow they'd have corralled the dollars if they could, but it was Mr. Brandon they meant to knock out." He paused and added in a significant tone: "They're after him yet."

"Hadn't you better tell us whom you mean by 'they'?" Dick asked.

"Oliva's gang. There are toughs in the city who'd kill you for fifty cents."

"Does that account for your buying the pistol when you came here?"

"It does," Payne admitted dryly. "I didn't mean to take any chances when it looked as if I was going back on my dago partner."

"He turned you down first, and I don't see how you could harm him by working for us."

Payne did not answer, and Dick, who thought he was pondering something, resumed: "These half-breeds are a revengeful lot, but after all, Oliva wouldn't run a serious risk without a stronger motive than he seems to have."

"Well," said Payne, "if I talked Spanish, I could tell you more; but I was taking my siesta one day in a dark wine-shop when two or three hard-looking peons came in. They mayn't have seen me, because there were some casks in the way, and anyhow, they'd reckon I couldn't understand them. I didn't very well, but I heard your name and caught a word or two. Their patron had given them some orders and one called him Don Ramon. You were to be watched, because mirar came in; but I didn't get the rest and they went out soon. I lay as if I was asleep, but I'd know the crowd again." Payne got up as he concluded: "Anyway, you take my gun, and keep in the main calles, where the lights are."

When he had gone Jake remarked: "I guess his advice is good and I'm coming along."

"No," said Dick, smiling as he put the pistol in his pocket. "The trouble is that if I took you down there I mightn't get you back. Besides, there are some calculations I want you to make."

Lighting his pipe, he took his seat on the hand-car and knitted his brows as two colored laborers drove him down the hill. Below, the lights of Santa Brigida gleamed in a cluster against the dusky sea, and he knew something of the intrigues that went on in the town. Commercial and political jealousies were very keen, and citizens of all ranks fought and schemed against their neighbors. The place was rank with plots, but it was hard to see how he could be involved. Yet it certainly began to look as if he had been stabbed by Oliva's order, and Oliva was now employed at the Adexe coaling wharf.

This seemed to throw a light upon the matter. Something mysterious was going on at Adexe, and perhaps he had been incautious and had shown his suspicions; the Spaniards were subtle. The manager might have imagined he knew more than he did; but if it was worth defending by the means Payne had hinted at, the secret must be very important, and the plotters would hesitate about betraying themselves by another attempt upon his life so long as there was any possibility of failure. Besides, it was dangerous to attack a foreigner, since if he were killed, the representative of his country would demand an exhaustive inquiry.

While Dick pondered the matter the hand-car stopped and he alighted and walked briskly to Santa Brigida, keeping in the middle of the road. When he reached the town, he chose the wide, well-lighted streets but saw nothing suspicious. After transacting his business he ventured, by way of experiment, across a small dark square and returned to the main street by a narrow lane, but although he kept a keen watch nothing indicated that he was followed. Reaching the hand-car without being molested, he determined to be cautious in future, though it was possible that Payne had been deceived.



CHAPTER XIX

JAKE EXPLAINS MATTERS

The sun had sunk behind the range when Clare Kenwardine stood, musing, on a balcony of the house. Voices and footsteps reached her across the roofs, for Santa Brigida was wakening from its afternoon sleep and the traffic had begun again in the cooling streets. The girl listened vacantly, as she grappled with questions that had grown more troublesome of late.

The life she led often jarred, and yet she could find no escape. She hoped she was not unnecessarily censorious and tried to argue that after all there was no great harm in gambling, but rarely succeeded in convincing herself. Then she had deliberately thrown in her lot with her father's. When she first insisted on joining him in England, he had, for her sake, as she now realized, discouraged the plan, but had since come to depend upon her in many ways, and she could not leave him. Besides, it was too late. She had made her choice and must stick to it.

Yet she rebelled against the feeling that she had brought a taint or stigma upon herself. She had no women friends except the wives of one or two Spanish officials whose reputation for honesty was not of the best; the English and American women left her alone. Most of the men she met she frankly disliked, and imagined that the formal respect they showed her was due to her father's hints. Kenwardine's moral code was not severe, but he saw that his guests preserved their manners. Clare had heard the Spaniards call him muy caballero, and they knew the outward points of a gentleman. While she pondered, he came out on the balcony.

"Brooding?" he said with a smile. "Well, it has been very dull lately and we need cheering up. Suppose you send Mr. Fuller a note and ask him to dinner to-morrow? He's sometimes amusing and I think you like him."

Clare braced herself for a struggle, for it was seldom she refused her father's request.

"Yes," she said, "I like him, but it would be better if he didn't come."

Kenwardine gave her a keen glance, but although he felt some surprise did not try to hide his understanding of what she meant.

"It looks as if you knew something about what happened on his last visit."

"I do," Clare answered. "It was rather a shock."

"One mustn't exaggerate the importance of these things," Kenwardine remarked in an indulgent tone. "It's difficult to avoid getting a jar now and then, though I've tried to shield you as much as possible. Fuller's young and high-spirited, and you really mustn't judge his youthful extravagance too severely."

"But don't you see you are admitting that he shouldn't come?" Clare asked, with some color in her face. "He is young and inexperienced, and your friends are men of the world. What is safe for them may be dangerous for him."

Kenwardine pondered. Fuller was an attractive lad, and he would not have been displeased to think that Clare's wish to protect him might spring from sentimental tenderness. But if this were so, she would hardly have been so frank and have admitted that he was weak. Moreover, if she found his society congenial, she would not insist on keeping him away.

"You are afraid some of the others might take advantage of his rashness?" he suggested. "Can't you trust me to see this doesn't happen?"

"It did happen, not long ago. And you can't go very far; one can't be rude to one's guests."

"Well," said Kenwardine, smiling, "it's kind of you to make an excuse for me. On the whole, of course, I like you to be fastidious in your choice of friends, but one should temper severity with sense. I don't want you to get as exacting as Brandon, for example."

"I'm afraid he was right when he tried to keep Fuller away."

"Right in thinking my house was unsafe for the lad, and in warning him that you and I were unfit for him to associate with?"

Kenwardine studied the girl. She looked distressed, and he thought this significant, but after a moment or two she answered steadily:

"After all, Brandon had some grounds for thinking so. I would much sooner you didn't urge me to ask Jake Fuller."

"Very well," said Kenwardine. "I don't want you to do anything that's repugnant; but, of course, if he comes to see me, I can't send him off. It isn't a matter of much importance, anyhow."

He left her, but she was not deceived by his careless tone. She thought he meant to bring Fuller back and did not see how she could prevent this, although she had refused to help. Then she thought about the plans that Brandon had lost at their house in England. They had certainly been stolen, for she could not doubt what he had told her, but it was painful to admit that her father had taken them. She felt dejected and lonely, and while she struggled against the depression Lucille came to say that Jake was waiting below.

"Tell him I am not at home," Clare replied.

Lucille went away and Clare left the balcony, but a few minutes later, when she thought Jake had gone, she went down the stairs and met him coming up. He stopped with a twinkle of amusement.

"I sent word that I was not at home," she said haughtily.

"You did," Jake agreed in an apologetic tone. "It's your privilege, but although I felt rather hurt, I don't see why that should prevent my asking if your father was in."

Clare's indignation vanished. She liked Jake and was moved by his reproachful look. She determined to try an appeal.

"Mr. Fuller," she said, "I would sooner you didn't come to see us. It would be better, in several ways."

He gave her a curious, intent look, in which she read sympathy. "I can't pretend I don't understand, and you're very brave. Still, I'm not sure you're quite just, to me among others. I'm a bit of a fool, but I'm not so rash as some people think. Anyhow, if I were, I'd still be safe enough in your house. Sorry, but I can't promise to stop away."

"It would really be much better," Clare insisted.

"Would it make things any easier for you?"

"No," said Clare. "In a sense, it could make no difference to me."

"Very well. I intend to call on your father now and then. Of course, you needn't see me unless you like, though since I am coming, your keeping out of the way wouldn't do much good."

Clare made a gesture of helpless protest. "Why won't you be warned? Can't you understand? Do you think it is easy for me to try——"

"I don't," said Jake. "I know it's very hard. I think you're mistaken about the necessity for interfering; that's all." Then he paused and resumed in a different tone: "You see, I imagine that you must feel lonely at times, and that you might need a friend. I dare say you'd find me better than none, and I'd like to know that I'll have an opportunity of being around if I'm wanted."

He gave her a quiet, respectful glance, and Clare knew she had never liked him so much. He looked trustworthy, and it was a relief to note that there was no hint of anything but sympathy in his eyes and voice. He asked nothing but permission to protect her if there was need. Moreover, since they had been forced to tread on dangerous ground, he had handled the situation with courage. She might require a friend, and his honest sympathy was refreshing by contrast with the attitude of her father's companions. Some were hard and cynical and some were dissipated, but all were stamped by a repugnant greediness. They sought something: money, the gratification of base desires, success in dark intrigue. Jake with his chivalrous generosity stood far apart from them; but he must be saved from becoming like them.

"If I knew how I could keep you away, I would do so, but I can, at least, see you as seldom as possible," she said and left him.

Jake knitted his brows as he went on to Kenwardine's room. He understood Clare's motive, and admitted that she meant well, but he was not going to stop away because she thought this better for him. There was, however, another matter that demanded his attention and he felt awkward when Kenwardine opened the door.

"It's some time since you have been to see us," the latter remarked.

"It is," said Jake. "Perhaps you can understand that I felt rather shy about coming after the way my partner arranged the matter of the check."

"He arranged it to your advantage, and you ought to be satisfied. Mr. Brandon is obviously a business man."

Jack resented the polished sneer. "He's a very good sort and I'm grateful to him; but it doesn't follow that I adopt his point of view."

"You mean his views about the payment of one's debts?"

"Yes," said Jake. "I don't consider the debt wiped out; in fact, that's why I came. I want to make good, but it will take time. If you will ask your friends to wait——"

Kenwardine looked at him with an ironical smile. "Isn't this a change of attitude? I understood you claimed that you were under a disadvantage through being drunk and suspected that the game was not quite straight."

"I was drunk and still suspect Black of crooked play."

"It's rather a grave statement."

"I quite see that," said Jake. "However, I deserved to lose for being drunk when I was betting high, and don't hold you accountable for Black. You'd take steep chances if you guaranteed all guests."

Kenwardine laughed. "You're remarkably frank; but there's some truth in what you say, although the convention is that I do guarantee them and their honor's mine."

"We'll keep to business," Jake replied. "Will you tell your friends I'll pay them out in full as soon as I can?"

"Certainly. Since they thought the matter closed, it will be a pleasant surprise, but we'll let that go. Mr. Brandon obviously didn't consult your wishes, but have you any idea what his object was in taking his very unusual line?"

"Yes," said Jake; "if you press me, I have."

"He thought he would make it awkward for you to come here, in fact?"

"Something like that."

"Then you mean to run the risk?"

"I'm coming, if you'll allow it," Jake answered with a twinkle. "The risk isn't very great, because if I lose any more money in the next few months, the winners will not get paid. The old man certainly won't stand for it if I get into debt."

Kenwardine pushed a box of cigarettes across. "I congratulate you on your way of making things clear, and now we understand each other you can come when you like. Have a smoke."

Jake took a cigarette, but left soon afterwards to do an errand of Bethune's that had given him an excuse for visiting the town. Then he went back to the dam, and after dinner sat outside Dick's shack, pondering what Clare had said. She had, of course, had some ground for warning him, but he did not believe yet that Kenwardine meant to exploit his recklessness. It would not be worth while, for one thing, since he had never had much money to lose and now had none. Besides, Kenwardine was not the man to take a mean advantage of his guest, though Jake could not say as much for some of his friends. Anyhow, he meant to go to the house because he felt that Clare might need his help. He did not see how that might be, but he had a half-formed suspicion that she might have to suffer on her father's account, and if anything of the kind happened, he meant to be about.

Yet he was not in love with her. She attracted him strongly, and he admitted that it would be remarkably easy to become infatuated, but did not mean to let this happen. Though often rash, he had more sense and self-control than his friends believed, and realized that Clare was not for him. He could not tell how he had arrived at this conclusion, but there it was, and he knew he was not mistaken. Sometimes he wondered with a twinge of jealousy what she thought of Brandon.

By and by he roused himself from his reflections and looked about. There was no moon and a thin mist that had stolen out of the jungle drifted past the shack. A coffee-pot and two cups stood upon a table near his chair, and one cup was half empty, as Dick had left it when he was unexpectedly summoned to the dam, where work was going on. The veranda lamp had been put out, because Jake did not want to read and a bright light would have attracted moths and beetles, but Dick had left a lamp burning in his room, and a faint illumination came through the curtain on the open window. Everything was very quiet except when the ringing of hammers and the rattle of a crane rose from the dam.

Looking farther round, Jake thought he distinguished the blurred outline of a human figure in the mist, but was not surprised. Some ironwork that made a comfortable seat lay near the shack and the figure had been there before. For all that, he imagined the man was wasting his time and keeping an unnecessary watch. Then his thoughts again centered on Clare and Kenwardine and some time had passed when he looked up. Something had disturbed him, but he could not tell what it was, and on glancing at the spot where he had seen the figure he found it had gone.

Next moment a board in the house creaked softly, as if it had been trodden on; but the boards often did so after a change of temperature, and Jake sat still. Their colored servant had asked leave to go down to the camp and was perhaps now coming back. One had to be careful not to give one's imagination too much rein in these hot countries. Payne seemed to have done so and had got an attack of nerves, which was curious, because indulgence in native cana generally led to that kind of thing, and Payne was sober. Moreover, he was of the type that is commonly called hard.

Jake took out a cigarette and was lighting it when he heard a swift, stealthy step close behind him. He dropped the match as he swung round, pushing back his canvas chair, and found his eyes dazzled by the sudden darkness. Still he thought he saw a shadow flit across the veranda and vanish into the mist. Next moment there were heavier footsteps, and a crash as a man fell over the projecting legs of the chair. The fellow rolled down the shallow stairs, dropping a pistol and then hurriedly got up.

"Stop right there, Pepe!" he shouted. "What were you doing in that room?"

Nobody answered and Jake turned to the man, who was rubbing his leg.

"What's the trouble, Payne?" he asked.

"He's lit out, but I reckon I'd have got him if you'd been more careful how you pushed your chair around."

"Whom did you expect to get?"

"Well," said Payne, "it wasn't Pepe."

"Then why did you call him?"

"I wanted the fellow I was after to think I'd made a mistake."

Jake could understand this, though the rest was dark. Pepe was an Indian boy who brought water and domestic stores to the shack, but would have no excuse for entering it at night.

"I allow he meant to dope the coffee," Payne resumed.

This was alarming, and Jake abruptly glanced at the table. The intruder must have been close to it and behind him when he heard the step, and might have accomplished his purpose and stolen away had he not struck the match.

"He hadn't time," he answered. "We had better see what he was doing in the house."

Payne put away his pistol and they entered Dick's room. Nothing seemed to have been touched, until Jake placed the lamp on a writing-table where Dick sometimes worked at night. The drawers beneath it were locked, but Payne indicated a greasy finger-print on the writing-pad.

"I guess that's a dago's mark. Mr. Brandon would wash his hands before he began to write."

Jake agreed, and picking up the pad thought the top sheet had been hurriedly removed, because a torn fragment projected from the leather clip. The sheet left was covered with faint impressions, but it rather looked as if these had been made by the ink running through than by direct contact. Jake wrote a few words on a scrap of paper and pressing it on the pad noted the difference.

"This is strange," he said. "I don't get the drift of it."

Payne looked at him with a dry smile. "If you'll come out and let me talk, I'll try to put you wise."

Jake nodded and they went back to the veranda.



CHAPTER XX

DON SEBASTIAN

When they returned to the veranda Payne sat down on the steps. Jake picked up his chair and looked at him thoughtfully.

"Now," he said, "I want to know why you have been prowling about the shack at night. You had better begin at the beginning."

"Very well. I guess you know I was put off this camp soon before you came?"

"I heard something about it," Jake admitted.

Payne grinned as if he appreciated his tact, and then resumed: "In the settlement where I was raised, the old fellow who kept the store had a cheat-ledger. When somebody traded stale eggs and garden-truck for good groceries, and the storekeeper saw he couldn't make trouble about it without losing a customer, he said nothing but scored it down against the man. Sometimes he had to wait a long while, but sooner or later he squared the account. Now that's my plan with Don Ramon Oliva."

"I see," said Jake. "What have you against him?"

"To begin with, he got me fired. It was a thing I took my chances of and wouldn't have blamed him for; but I reckon now your father's cement wasn't all he was after. He wanted a pull on me."

"Why?"

"I haven't got that quite clear, but I'm an American and could do things he couldn't, without being suspected."

"Go on," said Jake, in a thoughtful tone.

"Well, for a clever man, he made a very poor defense when your partner spotted his game; seemed to say if they reckoned he'd been stealing, he'd let it go at that. Then, when he'd got me and found I wasn't the man he wanted, he turned me down. Left me to live with breeds and niggers!"

"What do you mean by your not being the man he wanted?"

Payne smiled in a deprecatory way. "I allow that I was willing to make a few dollars on the cement, but working against white men in a dago plot is a different thing."

"Then there is a plot?"

"Well," said Payne quietly, "I don't know much about it, but something's going on."

Jake lighted a cigarette while he pondered. He was not surprised that Payne should talk to him with confidential familiarity, because the situation warranted it, and the American workman is not, as a rule, deferential to his employer. The fellow might be mistaken, but he believed that Oliva had schemed to get him into his power and work upon his wish for revenge. Jake could understand Oliva's error. Payne's moral code was rudimentary, but he had some racial pride and would not act like a treacherous renegade.

"I begin to see how your account against Oliva stands," he remarked. "But is that the only entry in your book?"

"I guess not," Payne replied. "Mr. Brandon's name is there, but the entry is against myself. It was a straight fight when he had me fired, and he took me back when he found I was down and out."

Jake nodded. "You have already warned Brandon that he might be in some danger in the town."

"That's so. Since then, I reckoned that they were getting after him here, but we were more likely to hold them up if they didn't know we knew. That's why I called out to show I thought it was Pepe who was in the shack."

"Very well," said Jake. "There's nothing more to be done in the meantime, but you'd better tell me if you find out anything else."

Payne went away and when Dick came in Jake took him into his room and indicated the blotter.

"Have you torn off the top sheet in the last few days?"

"I don't remember doing so, but now I come to look, it has been torn off."

"What have you been writing lately?"

"Orders for small supplies, specifications of material, and such things."

"Concrete, in short?" Jake remarked. "Well, it's not an interesting subject to outsiders and sometimes gets very stale to those who have to handle it. Are you quite sure you haven't been writing about anything else?"

"I am sure. Why do you ask?"

"Because, as you see, somebody thought it worth while to steal the top sheet of your blotter," Jake replied. "Now perhaps I'd better tell you something I've just learned."

He related what Payne had told him and concluded: "I'm puzzled about Oliva's motive. After all, it could hardly be revenge."

"No," said Dick, with a thoughtful frown, "I don't imagine it is."

"Then what does he expect to gain?"

Dick was silent for a few moments with knitted brows, and then asked: "You have a Monroe Doctrine, haven't you?"

"We certainly have," Jake agreed, smiling. "We reaffirmed it not long ago."

"Roughly speaking, the Doctrine states that no European power can be allowed to set up a naval base or make warlike preparations in any part of America. In fact, you warn all foreigners to keep their hands off?"

"That's its general purport; but while I support it patriotically, I can't tell you exactly what it says. Anyhow, I don't see what this has to do with the matter."

"Nor do I, but it seems to promise a clue," Dick answered dryly. He frowned at the blotter and then added: "We'll leave it at that. I've some vague suspicions, but nothing to act upon. If the thing gets any plainer, I'll let you know."

"But what about Payne? Is he to hang around here nights with his gun?"

"No," said Dick, "it isn't necessary. But there'd be no harm in our taking a few precautions."

He stretched his arms wearily when Jake left him, for he had had a tiring day and had now been given ground for anxious thought. He had not troubled much about Oliva while he imagined that the fellow was actuated by a personal grudge, but his antagonism began to look more dangerous. Suppose the Adexe coaling station was intended to be something of the nature of a naval base? Munitions and other contraband of war might be quietly sent off with fuel to fighting ships. Richter, the German, had certainly been associated with Kenwardine, who had made an opportunity for telling Jake that they had disagreed. Then suppose the owners of the station had learned that they were being spied upon? Dick admitted that he might not have been as tactful as he thought; and he was employed by an influential American. The Americans might be disposed to insist upon a strict observance of the Monroe Doctrine. Granting all this, if he was to be dealt with, it would be safer to make use of a half-breed who was known to have some ground for hating him.

Dick, however, reflected that he was taking much for granted and his suppositions might well be wrong. It was unwise to attach too much importance to a plausible theory. Then he could not expose Kenwardine without involving Clare, and saw no means of separating them. Besides, Kenwardine's position was strong. The officials were given to graft, and he had, no doubt, made a skilful use of bribes. Warnings about him would not be listened to, particularly as he was carrying on a thriving business and paying large sums in wages in a country that depended on foreign capital.

Then Dick got up with a frown. His head ached and he was tired after working since sunrise in enervating heat. The puzzle could not be solved now, and he must wait until he found out something more.

For the next two or three evenings he was kept busy at the dam, where work was carried on after dark, and Jake, taking advantage of this, went to Santa Brigida one night when he knew the locomotive would be coming back up the line. Nothing of importance happened at Kenwardine's, where he did not see Clare, and on his return he took a short cut through a badly-lighted part of the town. There was perhaps some risk in this, but Jake seldom avoided an adventure. Nothing unusual happened as he made his way through the narrow streets, until he reached a corner where a noisy group hung about the end house. As the men did not look sober, he took the other side of the street, where the light of a lamp fell upon him.

His close-fitting white clothes distinguished him from the picturesque untidiness of the rest, and when somebody shouted, "Un Gringo!" one or two moved across as if to stop him. Jake walked on quickly, looking straight in front without seeming to notice the others, in the hope of getting past before they got in his way, but a man dressed like a respectable citizen came round the corner and the peons ran off. Since the appearance of a single stranger did not seem to account for this, Jake wondered what had alarmed them, until he saw a rural guard in white uniform behind the other. When the man came up the rurale stopped and raised his hand as if he meant to salute, but let it fall again, and Jake imagined that the first had given him a warning glance. He knew the thin, dark-faced Spaniard, whom he had met at Kenwardine's.

The man touched Jake's shoulder and drew him away, and the lad thought it strange that the rurale went on without asking a question.

"I don't know that the peons meant to make trouble, but I'm glad you came along, Don Sebastian," he said.

"It is an honor to have been of some service, but it looks as if you were as rash in other matters as you are at cards," the Spaniard answered. "These dark calles are unsafe for foreigners."

"So it seems, but I'm afraid it will be a long time before I'm worth robbing," Jake replied, and then remembered with embarrassment that the other was one of the party whose winnings he had not yet paid.

Don Sebastian smiled, but said suavely: "For all that, you should not take an unnecessary risk. You have been attacked once already, I think?"

"Yes, but it was my partner who got hurt."

"That is one of the ironies of luck. Senor Brandon is sober and cautious, but he gets injured when he comes to protect you, who are rash."

"He's what you say, but I didn't know you had met him," Jake replied.

"I have heard of him; you foreigners are talked about in the cafes. They talk much in Santa Brigida; many have nothing else to do. But have you and Senor Brandon only been molested once?"

Jake hesitated for a moment. He liked the man and on the whole thought he could be trusted, while he imagined that he was not prompted by idle curiosity but knew something. Besides, Jake was often impulsive and ready, as he said, to back his judgment.

"We were only once actually attacked, but something rather curious happened not long ago."

"Ah!" said Don Sebastian, "this is interesting, and as I know something of the intrigues that go on in the city it might be to your advantage to tell me about it. There is a quiet wine-shop not far off."

"Would it be safe to go in?" Jake asked.

"I think so," his companion answered, smiling.

Jake presently followed him into a small, dimly lighted room, and noted that the landlord came to wait on them with obsequious attention. Two peons were drinking in a corner, but they went out when the landlord made a sign. Jake thought this curious, but Don Sebastian filled his glass and gave him a cigarette.

"Now," he said, "we have the place to ourselves and you can tell your story."

Jake related how a stranger had stolen into their shack a few days ago, and Don Sebastian listened attentively.

"You do not think it was one of the peons employed at the dam?" he suggested.

"No," said Jake. "Anyhow, Payne seemed satisfied it wasn't."

"He would probably know them better than you. Do you keep money in the house?"

"Very little. We lock up the money for wages in the pay-office safe. Anyhow, I'm not sure the fellow came to steal."

"If he did so, one would not imagine that he would be satisfied with blotting-paper," Don Sebastian agreed. "You said there was some coffee on the table."

"There was. Payne reckoned the fellow meant to dope it. What do you think?"

"It is possible, if he had ground for being revengeful. Some of the Indians from the mountains are expert poisoners. But why should anybody wish to injure your comrade?"

"I didn't suggest that he wished to injure Brandon. He might have meant to dope me."

Don Sebastian smiled. "That is so, but on the whole I do not think it probable. Do you know of anybody whom your friend has harmed?"

Jake decided to tell him about Oliva. He was now convinced that Don Sebastian knew more than he admitted and that his interest was not unfriendly. Besides, there was somehow a hint of authority in the fellow's thin, dark face. He showed polite attention as Jake narrated the events that had led to Oliva's dismissal, but the lad imagined that he was telling him nothing he had not already heard.

"The motive may have been revenge, but as Senor Brandon was stabbed that ought to satisfy his enemy. Besides, these people are unstable; they do not even indulge in hatred long. Do you know if your comrade has taken any part in political intrigue?"

"It's most unlikely; he would make a very poor conspirator," Jake replied.

"Then have you heard of any senorita, or perhaps a half-breed girl who has taken his fancy?"

"No," said Jake. "Dick is not that kind."

He thought Don Sebastian had been clearing the ground, eliminating possibilities to which he did not attach much weight, and waited with interest for his remarks.

"Well," said the Spaniard, "I think you and the man, Payne, should watch over your friend, but it might be better if you did not tell him you are doing so or ask him any questions, and I would sooner you did not mention this interview. If, however, anything suspicious happens again, it might be an advantage if you let me know. You can send word to me at the hotel."

"Not at Kenwardine's?"

Don Sebastian gave him a quiet glance, but Jake thought it was keenly observant and remembered how, one night when a messenger entered Kenwardine's patio, Richter, the German, had stood where he obstructed the Spaniard's view.

"No," he said, "I should prefer the hotel. Will you promise?"

"I will," Jake answered impulsively. "However, you seem to suggest that I should leave my partner to grapple with this thing himself and I don't like that. If he's up against any danger, I want to butt in. Dick's no fool, but there are respects in which he's not very keen. His mind's fixed on concrete, and when he gets off it his imagination's sometimes rather weak——"

He stopped, feeling that he must not seem to censure his friend, and Don Sebastian nodded with a twinkle of amusement.

"I think I understand. There are, however, men of simple character and no cunning who are capable of going far and sometimes surprise the friends who do not know them very well. I cannot tell if Senor Brandon is one of these, but it is not impossible. After all, it is often the clever man who makes the worst mistakes; and on the whole I imagine it would be wiser to leave your comrade alone."

He got up and laid his hand on Jake's arm with a friendly gesture. "Now I will put you on your way, and if you feel puzzled or alarmed in future, you can come to me."



CHAPTER XXI

DICK MAKES A BOLD VENTURE

Some delicate and important work was being done, and Stuyvesant had had his lunch sent up to the dam. Bethune and Dick joined him afterwards, and sat in the shade of a big traveling crane. Stuyvesant and Dick were hot and dirty, for it was not their custom to be content with giving orders when urgent work was going on. Bethune looked languid and immaculately neat. His speciality was mathematics, and he said he did not see why the man with mental talents should dissipate his energy by using his hands.

"It's curious about that French liner," Stuyvesant presently remarked. "I understand her passengers have been waiting since yesterday and she hasn't arrived."

"The last boat cut out Santa Brigida without notice," Bethune replied. "My opinion of the French is that they're a pretty casual lot."

"On the surface. They smile and shrug where we set our teeth, but when you get down to bed-rock you don't find much difference. I thought as you do, until I went over there and saw a people that run us close for steady, intensive industry. Their small cultivators are simply great. I'd like to put them on our poorer land in the Middle West, where we're content with sixteen bushels of wheat that's most fit for chicken feed to the acre. Then what they don't know about civil engineering isn't worth learning."

Bethune made a gesture of agreement. "They're certainly fine engineers and they're putting up a pretty good fight just now, but these Latins puzzle me. Take the Iberian branch of the race, for example. We have Spanish peons here who'll stand for as much work and hardship as any Anglo-Saxon I've met. Then an educated Spaniard's hard to beat for intellectual subtlety. Chess is a game that's suited to my turn of mind, but I've been badly whipped in Santa Brigida. They've brains and application, and yet they don't progress. What's the matter with them, anyway?"

"I expect they can't formulate a continuous policy and stick to it, and they keep brains and labor too far apart; the two should coordinate. But I wonder what's holding up the mail boat."

"Do they know when she left the last port?" Dick, who had listened impatiently, asked with concealed interest.

"They do. It's a short run and she ought to have arrived yesterday morning."

"The Germans can't have got her. They have no commerce-destroyers in these waters," Bethune remarked, with a glance at Dick. "Your navy corralled the lot, I think."

Dick wondered why Bethune looked at him, but he answered carelessly: "So one understands. But it's strange the French company cut out the last call. There was a big quantity of freight on the mole."

"It looks as if the agent had suspected something," Stuyvesant replied. "However, that's not our affair, and you want to get busy and have your specifications and cost-sheets straight when Fuller comes."

"Then Fuller is coming back!" Dick exclaimed.

"He'll be here to-morrow night. I imagined Bethune had told you about the cablegram he sent."

"He didn't; I expect he thought his getting a scratch lunch more important," Dick replied, looking at his watch. "Well, I must see everything's ready before the boys make a start."

He went away with swift, decided steps through the scorching heat, and Stuyvesant smiled.

"There you have a specimen of the useful Anglo-Saxon type. I don't claim that he's a smart man all round, but he can concentrate on his work and put over what he takes in hand. You wouldn't go to him for a brilliant plan, but give him an awkward job and he'll make good. I expect he'll get a lift up when Fuller has taken a look round."

"He deserves it," Bethune agreed.

Though the heat was intense and the glare from the white dam dazzling, Dick found work something of a relief. It was his habit to fix his mind upon the task in which he was engaged; but of late his thoughts had been occupied by Clare and conjectures about the Adexe coaling station and the strange black-funnel boat. The delay in the French liner's arrival had made the matter look more urgent, but he had now an excuse for putting off its consideration. His duty to his employer came first. There were detailed plans that must be worked out before Fuller came and things he would want to know, and Dick sat up late at night in order to have the answers ready.

Fuller arrived, and after spending a few days at the works came to Dick's shack one evening. For an hour he examined drawings and calculations, asking Jake a sharp question now and then, and afterwards sent him away.

"You can put up the papers now," he said. "We'll go out on the veranda. It's cooler there."

He dropped into a canvas chair, for the air was stagnant and enervating, and looked down at the clustering lights beside the sea for a time. Then he said abruptly: "Jake seems to know his business. You have taught him well."

"He learned most himself," Dick answered modestly.

"Well," said Fuller with some dryness, "that's the best plan, but you put him on the right track and kept him there; I guess I know my son. Has he made trouble for you in other ways?"

"None worth mentioning."

Fuller gave him a keen glance and then indicated the lights of the town.

"That's the danger-spot. Does he go down there often?"

"No. I make it as difficult as possible, but can't stop him altogether."

Fuller nodded. "I guess you used some tact, because he likes you and you'd certainly have had trouble if you'd snubbed him up too hard. Anyway, I'm glad to acknowledge that you have put me in your debt. You can see how I was fixed. Bethune's not the man to guide a headstrong lad, and Stuyvesant's his boss. If he'd used any official pressure, Jake would have kicked. That's why I wanted a steady partner for him who had no actual authority."

"In a sense, you ran some risk in choosing me."

"I don't know that I chose you, to begin with," Fuller answered with a twinkle. "I imagine my daughter made me think as I did, but I'm willing to state that her judgment was good. We'll let that go. You have seen Jake at his work; do you think he'll make an engineer?"

"Yes," said Dick, and then recognizing friendship's claim, added bluntly: "But he'll make a better artist. He has the gift."

"Well," said Fuller, in a thoughtful tone, "we'll talk of it again. In the meantime, he's learning how big jobs are done and dollars are earned, and that's a liberal education. However, I've a proposition here I'd like your opinion of."

Dick's heart beat as he read the document his employer handed him. It was a formal agreement by which he engaged his services to Fuller until the irrigation work was completed, in return for a salary that he thought remarkably good.

"It's much more than I had any reason to expect," he said with some awkwardness. "In fact, although I don't know that I have been of much help to Jake, I'd sooner you didn't take this way of repaying me. One would prefer not to mix friendship with business."

"Yours is not a very common view," Fuller replied, smiling. "However, I'm merely offering to buy your professional skill, and want to know if you're satisfied with my terms."

"They're generous," said Dick with emotion, for he saw what the change in his position might enable him to do. "There's only one thing: the agreement is to stand until the completion of the dam. What will happen afterwards?"

"Then if I have no more use for you here, I think I can promise to find you as good or better job. Is that enough?"

Dick gave him a grateful look. "It's difficult to tell you how I feel about it, but I'll do my best to make good and show that you have not been mistaken."

"That's all right," said Fuller, getting up. "Sign the document when you can get a witness and let me have it."

He went away and Dick sat down and studied the agreement with a beating heart. He found his work engrossing, he liked the men he was associated with, and saw his way to making his mark in his profession, but there was another cause for the triumphant thrill he felt. Clare must be separated from Kenwardine before she was entangled in his dangerous plots, and he had brooded over his inability to come to her rescue. Now, however, one obstacle was removed. He could offer her some degree of comfort if she could be persuaded to marry him. It was obvious that she must be taken out of her father's hands as soon as possible, and he determined to try to gain her consent next morning, though he was very doubtful of his success.

When he reached the house, Clare was sitting at a table in the patio with some work in her hand. Close by, the purple creeper spread across the wall, and the girl's blue eyes and thin lilac dress harmonized with its deeper color. Her face and half-covered arms showed pure white against the background, but the delicate pink that had once relieved the former was now less distinct. The hot, humid climate had begun to set its mark on her, and Dick thought she looked anxious and perplexed.

She glanced up when she heard his step, and moving quietly forward he stopped on the opposite side of the table with his hand on a chair. He knew there was much against him and feared a rebuff, but delay might be dangerous and he could not wait. Standing quietly resolute, he fixed his eyes on the girl's face.

"Is your father at home, Miss Kenwardine?" he asked.

"No," said Clare. "He went out some time ago, and I cannot tell when he will come back. Do you want to see him?"

"I don't know yet. It depends."

He thought she was surprised and curious, but she said nothing, and nerving himself for the plunge, he resumed: "I came to see you in the first place. I'm afraid you'll be astonished, Clare, but I want to know if you will marry me."

She moved abruptly, turned her head for a moment, and then looked up at him while the color gathered in her face. Her expression puzzled Dick, but he imagined that she was angry.

"I am astonished. Isn't it a rather extraordinary request, after what you said on board the launch?"

"No," said Dick, "it's very natural from my point of view. You see, I fell in love with you the first time we met; but I got into disgrace soon afterwards and have had a bad time since. This made it impossible for me to tell you what I felt; but things are beginning to improve——"

He stopped, seeing no encouragement in her expression, for Clare was fighting a hard battle. His blunt simplicity made a strong appeal. She had liked and trusted him when he had with callow but honest chivalry offered her his protection one night in England and he had developed fast since then. Hardship had strengthened and in a sense refined him. He looked resolute and soldierlike as he waited. Still, for his sake as well as hers, she must refuse.

"Then you must be easily moved," she said. "You knew nothing about me."

"I'd seen you; that was quite enough," Dick declared and stopped. Her look was gentler and he might do better if he could lessen the distance between them and take her hand; he feared he had been painfully matter-of-fact. Perhaps he was right, but the table stood in the way, and if he moved round it, she would take alarm. It was exasperating to be baulked by a piece of furniture.

"Besides," he resumed, "when everybody doubted me, you showed your confidence. You wrote and said——"

"But you told me you tore up the letter," Clare interrupted.

Dick got confused. "I did; I was a fool, but the way things had been going was too much for me. You ought to understand and try to make allowances."

"I cannot understand why you want to marry a girl you think a thief."

Pulling himself together, Dick gave her a steady look. "I can't let that pass, though if I begin to argue I'm lost. In a way, I'm at your mercy, because my defense can only make matters worse. But I tried to explain on board the launch."

"The explanation wasn't very convincing," Clare remarked, turning her head. "Do you still believe I took your papers?"

"The plans were in my pocket when I reached your house," said Dick, who saw he must be frank. "I don't know that you took them, and if you did, I wouldn't hold you responsible; but they were taken."

"You mean that you blame my father for their loss?"

Dick hesitated. He felt that she was giving him a last opportunity, but he could not seize it.

"If I pretended I didn't blame him, you would find me out and it would stand between us. I wish I could say I'd dropped the papers somewhere or find some other way; but the truth is best."

Clare turned to him with a hot flush and an angry sparkle in her eyes.

"Then it's unthinkable that you should marry the daughter of the man whom you believe ruined you. Don't you see that you can't separate me from my father? We must stand together."

"No," said Dick doggedly, knowing that he was beaten, "I don't see that. I want you; I want to take you away from surroundings and associations that must jar. Perhaps it was foolish to think you would come, but you helped to save my life when I was ill, and I believe I was then something more to you than a patient. Why have you changed?"

She looked at him with a forced and rather bitter smile. "Need you ask? Can't you, or won't you, understand? Could I marry my victim, which is what you are if your suspicions are justified? If they are not, you have offered me an insult I cannot forgive. It is unbearable to be thought the daughter of a thief."

Dick nerved himself for a last effort. "What does your father's character matter? I want you. You will be safe from everything that could hurt you if you come to me." He hesitated and then went on in a hoarse, determined voice: "You must come. I can't let you live among those plotters and gamblers. It's impossible. Clare, when I was ill and you thought me asleep, I watched you sitting in the moonlight. Your face was wonderfully gentle and I thought——"

She rose and stopped him with a gesture. "There is no more to be said, Mr. Brandon. I cannot marry you, and if you are generous, you will go."

Dick, who had been gripping the chair hard, let his hand fall slackly and turned away. Clare watched him cross the patio, and stood tensely still, fighting against an impulse to call him back as he neared the door. Then as he vanished into the shadow of the arch she sat down with sudden limpness and buried her hot face in her hands.



CHAPTER XXII

THE OFFICIAL MIND

On the evening after Clare's refusal, Dick entered the principal cafe at Santa Brigida. The large, open-fronted room was crowded, for, owing to the duty, newspapers were not generally bought by the citizens, who preferred to read them at the cafes, and the Diario had just come in. The eagerness to secure a copy indicated that something important had happened, and after listening to the readers' remarks, Dick gathered that the French liner had sunk and a number of her passengers were drowned. This, however, did not seem to account for the angry excitement some of the men showed, and Dick waited until a polite half-breed handed him the newspaper.

A ship's lifeboat, filled with exhausted passengers, had reached a bay some distance along the coast, and it appeared from their stories that the liner was steaming across a smooth sea in the dark when a large vessel, which carried no lights, emerged from a belt of haze and came towards her. The French captain steered for the land, hoping to reach territorial waters, where he would be safe, but the stranger was faster and opened fire with a heavy gun. The liner held on, although she was twice hit, but after a time there was an explosion below and her colored firemen ran up on deck. Then the ship stopped, boats were hoisted out, and it was believed that several got safely away, though only one had so far reached the coast. This boat was forced to pass the attacking vessel rather close, and an officer declared that she looked like one of the Spanish liners and her funnel was black.

Dick gave the newspaper to the next man and sat still with knitted brows, for his suspicions were suddenly confirmed. The raider had a black funnel, and was no doubt the ship he had seen steering for Adexe. An enemy commerce-destroyer was lurking about the coast, and she could not be allowed to continue her deadly work, which her resemblance to the Spanish vessels would make easier. For all that, Dick saw that anything he might do would cost him much, since Clare had said that she and Kenwardine must stand together. This was true, in a sense, because if Kenwardine got into trouble, she would share his disgrace and perhaps his punishment. Moreover, she might think he had been unjustly treated and blame Dick for helping to persecute him. Things were getting badly entangled, and Dick, leaning back in his chair, vacantly looked about.

The men had gathered in groups round the tables, their dark faces showing keen excitement as they argued with dramatic gestures about international law. For the most part, they looked indignant, but Dick understood that they did not expect much from their Government. One said the English would send a cruiser and something might be done by the Americans; another explained the Monroe Doctrine in a high-pitched voice. Dick, however, tried not to listen, because difficulties he had for some time seen approaching must now be faced.

He had been forced to leave England in disgrace, and his offense would be remembered if he returned. Indeed, he had come to regard America as his home, but patriotic feelings he had thought dead had awakened and would not be denied. He might still be able to serve his country and meant to do so, though it was plain that this would demand a sacrifice. Love and duty clashed, but he must do his best and leave the rest to luck. Getting up with sudden resolution, he left the cafe and went to the British consulate.

When he stopped outside the building, to which the royal arms were fixed, he remarked that two peons were lounging near, but, without troubling about them, knocked at the door. There was only a Vice-Consul at Santa Brigida, and the post, as sometimes happens, was held by a merchant, who had, so a clerk stated, already gone home. Dick, however, knew where he lived and determined to seek him at his house. He looked round once or twice on his way there, without seeing anybody who seemed to be following him, but when he reached the iron gate he thought a dark figure stopped in the gloom across the street. Still, it might only be a citizen going into his house, and Dick rang the bell.

He was shown on to a balcony where the Vice-Consul sat with his Spanish wife and daughter at a table laid with wine and fruit. He did not look pleased at being disturbed, but told Dick to sit down when the ladies withdrew.

"Now," he said, "you can state your business, but I have an appointment in a quarter of an hour."

Dick related his suspicions about the coaling company, and described what he had seen at Adexe and the visit of the black-funnel boat, but before he had gone far, realized that he was wasting his time. The Vice-Consul's attitude was politely indulgent.

"This is a rather extraordinary tale," he remarked when Dick stopped.

"I have told you what I saw and what I think it implies," Dick answered with some heat.

"Just so. I do not doubt your honesty, but it is difficult to follow your arguments."

"It oughtn't to be difficult. You have heard that the French liner was sunk by a black-funnel boat."

"Black funnels are common. Why do you imagine the vessel you saw was an auxiliary cruiser?"

"Because her crew looked like navy men. They were unusually numerous and were busy at drill."

"Boat or fire drill probably. They often exercise them at it on board passenger ships. Besides, I think you stated that it was dark."

Dick pondered for a few moments. He had heard that Government officials were hard to move, and knew that, in hot countries, Englishmen who marry native wives sometimes grow apathetic and succumb to the climatic lethargy. But this was not all: he had to contend against the official dislike of anything informal and unusual. Had he been in the navy, his warning would have received attention, but as he was a humble civilian he had, so to speak, no business to know anything about such matters.

"Well," he said, "you can make inquiries and see if my conclusions are right."

The Vice-Consul smiled. "That is not so. You can pry into the coaling company's affairs and, if you are caught, it would be looked upon as an individual impertinence. If I did anything of the kind, it would reflect upon the Foreign Office and compromise our relations with a friendly state. The Adexe wharf is registered according to the laws of this country as being owned by a native company."

"Then go to the authorities and tell them what you know."

"The difficulty is that I know nothing except that you have told me a somewhat improbable tale."

"But you surely don't mean to let the raider do what she likes? Her next victim may be a British vessel."

"I imagine the British admiralty will attend to that, and I have already sent a cablegram announcing the loss of the French boat."

Dick saw that he was doubted and feared that argument would be useless, but he would not give in.

"A raider must have coal and it's not easy to get upon this coast," he resumed. "You could render her harmless by cutting off supplies."

"Do you know much about international law and how far it prohibits a neutral country from selling coal to a belligerent?"

"I don't know anything about it; but if our Foreign Office is any good, they ought to be able to stop the thing," Dick answered doggedly.

"Then let me try to show you how matters stand. We will suppose that your suspicions were correct and I thought fit to make representations to the Government of this country. What do you think would happen?"

"They'd be forced to investigate your statements."

"Exactly. The head of a department would be asked to report. You probably know that every official whose business brings him into touch with it is in the coaling company's pay; I imagine there is not a foreign trader here who does not get small favors in return for bribes. Bearing this in mind, it is easy to understand what the report would be. I should have shown that we suspected the good faith of a friendly country, and there would be nothing gained."

"Still, you can't let the matter drop," Dick insisted.

"Although you have given me no proof of your statements, which seem to be founded on conjectures, I have not said that I intend to let it drop. In the meantime I am entitled to ask for some information about yourself. You look like an Englishman and have not been here long. Did you leave home after the war broke out?"

"Yes," said Dick, who saw where he was leading, "very shortly afterwards."

"Why? Men like you are needed for the army."

Dick colored, but looked his questioner steadily in the face.

"I was in the army. They turned me out."

The Vice-Consul made a gesture. "I have nothing to do with the reason for this; but you can see my difficulty. You urge me to meddle with things that require very delicate handling and with which my interference would have to be justified. No doubt, you can imagine the feelings of my superiors when I admitted that I acted upon hints given me by a stranger in the employ of Americans, who owned to having been dismissed from the British army."

Dick got up, with his face firmly set.

"Very well. There's no more to be said. I won't trouble you again."

Leaving the house, he walked moodily back to the end of the line. The Vice-Consul was a merchant and thought first of his business, which might suffer if he gained the ill-will of corrupt officials. He would, no doubt, move if he were forced, but he would demand incontestable proof, which Dick feared he could not find. Well, he had done his best and been rebuffed, and now the temptation to let the matter drop was strong. To go on would bring him into conflict with Kenwardine, and perhaps end in his losing Clare, but he must go on. For all that, he would leave the Vice-Consul alone and trust to getting some help from his employer's countrymen. If it could be shown that the enemy was establishing a secret base for naval operations at Adexe, he thought the Americans would protest. The Vice-Consul, however, had been of some service by teaching him the weakness of his position. He must strengthen it by carefully watching what went on, and not interfere until he could do so with effect. Finding the locomotive waiting, he returned to his shack and with an effort fixed his mind upon the plans of some work that he must superintend in the morning.

For the next few days he was busily occupied. A drum of the traveling crane broke and as it could not be replaced for a time, Dick put up an iron derrick of Bethune's design to lower the concrete blocks into place. They were forced to use such material as they could find, and the gang of peons who handled the chain-tackle made a poor substitute for a steam engine. In consequence, the work progressed slowly and Stuyvesant ordered it to be carried on into the night. Jake and Bethune grumbled, but Dick found the longer hours and extra strain something of a relief. He had now no leisure to indulge in painful thoughts; besides, while he was busy at the dam he could not watch Kenwardine, and his duty to his employer justified his putting off an unpleasant task.

One hot night he stood, soaked with perspiration and dressed in soiled duck clothes, some distance beneath the top of the dam, which broke down to a lower level at the spot. There was no moon, but a row of blast-lamps that grew dimmer as they receded picked out the tall embankment with jets of pulsating flame. Glimmering silvery gray in the light, it cut against the gloom in long sweeping lines, with a molded rib that added a touch of grace where the slope got steeper towards its top. This was Dick's innovation. He had fought hard for it and when Jake supported him Stuyvesant had written to Fuller, who sanctioned the extra cost. The rib marked the fine contour of the structure and fixed its bold curve upon the eye.

Where the upper surface broke off, two gangs of men stood beside the tackles that trailed away from the foot of the derrick. The flame that leaped with a roar from a lamp on a tripod picked out some of the figures with harsh distinctness, but left the rest dim and blurred. Dick stood eight or nine feet below, with the end of the line, along which the blocks were brought, directly above his head. A piece of rail had been clamped across the metals to prevent the truck running over the edge. Jake stood close by on the downward slope of the dam. Everything was ready for the lowering of the next block, but they had a few minutes to wait.

"That rib's a great idea," Jake remarked. "Tones up the whole work; it's curious what you can do with a flowing line, but it must be run just right. Make it the least too flat and you get harshness, too full and the effect's vulgarly pretty or voluptuous. Beauty's severely chaste and I allow, as far as form goes, this dam's a looker." He paused and indicated the indigo sky, flaring lights, and sweep of pearly stone. "Then if you want color, you can revel in silver, orange, and blue."

Dick, who nodded, shared Jake's admiration. He had helped to build the dam and, in a sense, had come to love it. Any defacement or injury to it would hurt him. Just then a bright, blinking spot emerged from the dark at the other end of the line and increased in radiance as it came forward, flickering along the slope of stone. It was the head-lamp of the locomotive that pushed the massive concrete block they waited for. The block cut off the light immediately in front of and below it, and when the engine, snorting harshly, approached the edge of the gap somebody shouted and steam was cut off. The truck stopped just short of the rail fastened across the line, and Dick looked up.

The blast-lamp flung its glare upon the engine and the rays of the powerful head-light drove horizontally into the dark, but the space beyond the broken end of the dam was kept in shadow by the block, and the glitter above dazzled his eyes.

"Swing the derrick-boom and tell the engineer to come on a yard or two," he said.

There was a patter of feet, a rattle of chains, and somebody called: "Adelante locomotura!"

The engine snorted, the wheels ground through the fragments of concrete scattered about the line, and the big dark mass rolled slowly forward. It seemed to Dick to be going farther than it ought, but he had ascertained that the guard-rail was securely fastened. As he watched the front of the truck, Jake, who stood a few feet to one side, leaned out and seized his shoulder.

"Jump!" he cried, pulling him forward.

Dick made an awkward leap, and alighting on the steep front of the dam, fell heavily on his side. As he clutched the stones to save himself from sliding down, a black mass plunged from the line above and there was a deafening crash as it struck the spot he had left. Then a shower of fragments fell upon him and he choked amidst a cloud of dust. Hoarse shouts broke out above, and he heard men running about the dam as he got up, half dazed.

"Are you all right, Jake?" he asked.

"Not a scratch," was the answer; and Dick, scrambling up the bank, called for a lamp.

It was brought by a big mulatto, and Dick held up the light. The last-fitted block of the ribbed course was split in two, and the one that had fallen was scattered about in massive broken lumps. Amidst these lay the guard-rail, and the front wheels of the truck hung across the gap above. There was other damage, and Dick frowned as he looked about.

"We'll be lucky if we get the broken molding out in a day, and I expect we'll have to replace two of the lower blocks," he said. "It's going to be an awkward and expensive job now that the cement has set."

"Is that all?" Jake asked with a forced grin.

"It's enough," said Dick. "However, we'll be better able to judge in the daylight."

Then he turned to the engineer, who was standing beside the truck, surrounded by excited peons. "How did it happen?"

"I had my hand on the throttle when I got the order to go ahead, and let her make a stroke or two, reckoning the guard-rail would snub up the car. I heard the wheels clip and slammed the link-gear over, because it looked as if she wasn't going to stop. When she reversed, the couplings held the car and the block slipped off."

"Are you sure you didn't give her too much steam?"

"No, sir. I've been doing this job quite a while, and know just how smart a push she wants. It was the guard-rail slipping that made the trouble."

"I can't understand why it did slip. The fastening clamps were firm when I looked at them."

"Well," remarked the engineer, "the guard's certainly in the pit, and I felt her give as soon as the car-wheels bit."

Dick looked hard at him and thought he spoke the truth. He was a steady fellow and a good driver.

"Put your engine in the house and take down the feed-pump you were complaining about. We won't want her to-morrow," he said, and dismissing the men, returned to his shack, where he sat down rather limply on the veranda.

"I don't understand the thing," he said to Jake. "The guard-rail's heavy and I watched the smith make the clamps we fixed it with. One claw went over the rail, the other under the flange of the metal that formed the track, and sudden pressure would jamb the guard down. Then, not long before the accident, I hardened up the clamp."

"You hit it on the back?"

"Of course. I'd have loosened the thing by hitting the front."

"That's so," Jake agreed, somewhat dryly. "We'll look for the clamps in the morning. But you didn't seem very anxious to get out of the way."

"I expect I forgot to thank you for warning me. Anyhow, you know——"

"Yes, I know," said Jake. "You didn't think about it; your mind was on your job. Still, I suppose you see that if you'd been a moment later you'd have been smashed pretty flat?"

Dick gave him a quick glance. There was something curious about Jake's tone, but Dick knew he did not mean to emphasize the value of his warning. It was plain that he had had a very narrow escape, but since one must be prepared for accidents in heavy engineering work, he did not see why this should jar his nerves. Yet they were jarred. The danger he had scarcely heeded had now a disturbing effect. He could imagine what would have happened had he delayed his leap. However, he was tired, and perhaps rather highly strung, and he got up.

"It's late, and we had better go to bed," he said.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE CLAMP

When work began next morning, Jake asked Dick if he should order the peons to search for the clamps that had held the guard-rail.

"I think not," said Dick. "It would be better if you looked for the things yourself."

"Very well. Perhaps you're right."

Dick wondered how much Jake suspected, particularly as he did not appear to be searching for anything when he moved up and down among the broken concrete. Half an hour later, when none of the peons were immediately about, he came up with his hand in his pocket and indicated a corner beside a block where there was a little shade and they were not likely to be overlooked.

"I've got one," he remarked.

When they sat down Jake took out a piece of thick iron about six inches long, forged into something like the shape of a U, though the curve was different and one arm was shorter than the other. Much depended on the curve, for the thing was made on the model of an old-fashioned but efficient clamp that carpenters sometimes use for fastening work to a bench. A blow or pressure on one part wedged it fast, but a sharp tap on the other enabled it to be lifted off. This was convenient, because as the work progressed, the track along the dam had to be lengthened and the guard fixed across a fresh pair of rails.

Taking the object from Jake, Dick examined it carefully. He thought he recognized the dint where he had struck the iron, and then, turning it over, noted another mark. This had been made recently, because the surface of the iron was bright where the hammer had fallen, and a blow there would loosen the clamp. He glanced at Jake, who nodded.

"It looks very suspicious, but that's all. You can't tell how long the mark would take to get dull. Besides, we have moved the guard two or three times in the last few days."

"That's true," said Dick. "Still, I wedged the thing up shortly before the accident. It has stood a number of shocks; in fact, it can't be loosened by pressure on the back. When do you think the last blow was struck?"

"After yours," Jake answered meaningly.

"Then the probability is that somebody wanted the truck to fall into the hole and smash the block."

"Yes," said Jake, who paused and looked hard at Dick. "But I'm not sure that was all he wanted. You were standing right under the block, and if I hadn't been a little to one side, where the lights didn't dazzle me, the smashing of a lot of concrete wouldn't have been the worst damage."

Dick said nothing, but his face set hard as he braced himself against the unnerving feeling that had troubled him on the previous night. The great block had not fallen by accident; it looked as if somebody had meant to take his life. The cunning of the attempt daunted him. The blow had been struck in a manner that left him a very slight chance of escape; and his subtle antagonist might strike again.

"What are you going to do about it?" Jake resumed.

"Nothing," said Dick.

Jake looked at him in surprise. "Don't you see what you're up against?"

"It's pretty obvious; but if I ask questions, I'll find out nothing and show that I'm suspicious. If we let the thing go as an accident, we may catch the fellow off his guard."

"My notion is that you know more than you mean to tell. Now you began by taking care of me, but it looks as if the matter would end in my taking care of you. Seems to me you need it and I don't like to see you playing a lone hand."

Dick gave him a grateful smile. "If I see how you can help, I'll let you know. In the meantime, you'll say nothing to imply that I'm on the watch."

"Well," said Jake, grinning, "if you can bluff Stuyvesant, you'll be smarter than I thought. You're a rather obvious person and he's not a fool."

He went away, but Dick lighted a cigarette and sat still in the shade. He was frankly daunted, but did not mean to stop, for he saw that he was following the right clue. His reason for visiting the Adexe wharf had been guessed. He had been watched when he went to the Vice-Consul, and it was plain that his enemies thought he knew enough to be dangerous. The difficulty was that he did not know who they were. He hated to think that Kenwardine was a party to the plot, but this, while possible, was by no means certain. At Santa Brigida, a man's life was not thought of much account, and it would, no doubt, have been enough if Kenwardine had intimated that Dick might cause trouble; but then Kenwardine must have known what was likely to follow his hint.

After all, however, this was not very important. He must be careful, but do nothing to suggest that he understood the risk he ran. If his antagonists thought him stupid, so much the better. He saw the difficulty of playing what Jake called a lone hand against men skilled in the intricate game; but he could not ask for help until he was sure of his ground. Besides, he must find a way of stopping Kenwardine without involving Clare. In the meantime he had a duty to Fuller, and throwing away his cigarette, resumed his work.

Two or three days later he met Kenwardine in a cafe where he was waiting for a man who supplied some stores to the camp. When Kenwardine saw Dick he crossed the floor and sat down at his table. His Spanish dress became him, he looked polished and well-bred, and it was hard to think him a confederate of half-breed ruffians who would not hesitate about murder. But Dick wondered whether Clare had told him about his proposal.

"I suppose I may congratulate you on your recent promotion? You certainly deserve it," Kenwardine remarked with an ironical smile. "I imagine your conscientiousness and energy are unusual, but perhaps at times rather inconvenient."

"Thanks!" said Dick. "How did you hear about the matter?"

"In Santa Brigida, one hears everything that goes on. We have nothing much to do but talk about our neighbors' affairs."

Dick wondered whether Kenwardine meant to hint that as his time was largely unoccupied he had only a small part in managing the coaling business, but he said: "We are hardly your neighbors at the camp."

"I suppose that's true. We certainly don't see you often."

This seemed to indicate that Kenwardine did not know about Dick's recent visit. He could have no reason for hiding his knowledge, and it looked as if Clare did not tell her father everything.

"You have succeeded in keeping your young friend out of our way," Kenwardine resumed. "Still, as he hasn't your love of work and sober character, there's some risk of a reaction if you hold him in too hard. Jake's at an age when it's difficult to be satisfied with cement."

Dick laughed. "I really did try to keep him, but was helped by luck. We have been unusually busy at the dam and although I don't know that his love for cement is strong he doesn't often leave a half-finished job."

"If you work upon his feelings in that way, I expect you'll beat me; but after all, I'm not scheming to entangle the lad. He's a bright and amusing youngster, but there wouldn't be much profit in exploiting him. However, you have had some accidents at the dam, haven't you?"

Dick was immediately on his guard, but he answered carelessly: "We broke a crane-drum, which delayed us."

"And didn't a truck fall down the embankment and do some damage?"

"It did," said Dick. "We had a big molded block, which cost a good deal to make, smashed to pieces, and some others split. I had something of an escape, too, because I was standing under the block."

He was watching Kenwardine and thought his expression changed and his easy pose stiffened. His self-control was good, but Dick imagined he was keenly interested and surprised.

"Then you ran a risk of being killed?"

"Yes. Jake, however, saw the danger and warned me just before the block fell."

"That was lucky. But you have a curious temperament. When we began to talk of the accidents, you remembered the damage to Fuller's property before the risk to your life."

"Well," said Dick, "you see I wasn't hurt, but the damage still keeps us back."

"How did the truck run off the line? I should have thought you'd have taken precautions against anything of the kind."

Dick pondered. He believed Kenwardine really was surprised to hear he had nearly been crushed by the block; but the fellow was clever and had begun to talk about the accidents. He must do nothing to rouse his suspicions, and began a painstaking account of the matter, explaining that the guard-rail had got loose, but saying nothing about the clamps being tampered with. Indeed, the trouble he took about the explanation was in harmony with his character and his interest in his work, and presently Kenwardine looked bored.

"I quite understand the thing," he said, and got up as the man Dick was waiting for came towards the table.

The merchant did not keep Dick long, and he left the cafe feeling satisfied. Kenwardine had probably had him watched and had had something to do with the theft of the sheet from his blotting pad, but knew nothing about the attempt upon his life. After hearing about it, he understood why the accident happened, but had no cause to think that Dick knew, and some of his fellow conspirators were responsible for this part of the plot. Dick wondered whether he would try to check them now he did know, because if they tried again, they would do so with Kenwardine's tacit consent.

A few days later, he was sitting with Bethune and Jake one evening when Stuyvesant came in and threw a card, printed with the flag of a British steamship company, on the table.

"I'm not going, but you might like to do so," he said.

Dick, who was nearest, picked up the card. It was an invitation to a dinner given to celebrate the first call of a large new steamship at Santa Brigida, and he imagined it had been sent to the leading citizens and merchants who imported goods by the company's vessels. After glancing at it, he passed it on.

"I'll go," Bethune remarked. "After the Spartan simplicity we practise at the camp, it will be a refreshing change to eat a well-served dinner in a mailboat's saloon, though I've no great admiration for British cookery."

"It can't be worse than the dago kind we're used to," Jake broke in. "What's the matter with it, anyhow?"

"It's like the British character, heavy and unchanging," Bethune replied. "A London hotel menu, with English beer and whisky, in the tropics! Only people without imagination would offer it to their guests; and then they've printed a list of the ports she's going to at the bottom. Would any other folk except perhaps the Germans, couple an invitation with a hint that they were ready to trade? If a Spaniard comes to see you on business, he talks for half an hour about politics or your health, and apologizes for mentioning such a thing as commerce when he comes to the point."

"The British plan has advantages," said Stuyvesant. "You know what you're doing when you deal with them."

"That's so. We know, for example, when this boat will arrive at any particular place and when she'll sail; while you can reckon on a French liner's being three or four days late and on the probability of a Spaniard's not turning up at all. But whether you have revolutions, wars, or tidal waves, the Britisher sails on schedule."

"There's some risk in that just now," Stuyvesant observed.

Bethune turned to Jake. "You had better come. The card states there'll be music, and the agent will hire Vallejo's band, which is pretty good. Guitars, mandolins, and fiddles on the poop, and senoritas in gauzy dresses flitting through graceful dances in the after well! The entertainment ought to appeal to your artistic taste."

"I'm going," Jake replied.

"So am I," said Dick.

Jake grinned. "That's rather sudden, isn't it? However, you may be needed to look after Bethune."

An evening or two later, they boarded the launch at the town mole. The sea was smooth and glimmered with phosphorescence in the shadow of the land, for the moon had not risen far above the mountains. Outside the harbor mouth, the liner's long, black hull cut against the dusky blue, the flowing curve of her sheer picked out by a row of lights. Over this rose three white tiers of passenger decks, pierced by innumerable bright points, with larger lights in constellations outside, while masts and funnels ran up, faintly indicated, into the gloom above. She scarcely moved to the lift of the languid swell, but as the undulations passed there was a pale-green shimmer about her waterline that magnified the height to her topmost deck. She looked unsubstantial, rather like a floating fairy palace than a ship, and as the noisy launch drew nearer Jake gave his imagination rein.

"She was made, just right, by magic; a ship of dreams," he said. "Look how she glimmers, splashed with cadmium radiance, on velvety blue; and her formlessness outside the lights wraps her in mystery. Yet you get a hint of swiftness."

"You know she has power and speed," Bethune interrupted.

"No," said Jake firmly, "it's not a matter of knowledge; she appeals to your imagination. You feel that airy fabric must travel like the wind." Then he turned to Dick, who was steering. "There's a boat ahead with a freight of senoritas in white and orange gossamer; they know something about grace of line in this country. Are you going to rush past them, like a dull barbarian, in this kicking, snorting launch?"

"I'll make for the other side of the ship, if you like."

"You needn't go so far," Jake answered with a chuckle. "But you might muzzle your rackety engine."

Dick, who had seen the boat, gave her room enough, but let the engine run. He imagined that Jake's motive for slowing down might be misunderstood by the senoritas' guardian, since a touch of Moorish influence still colors the Spaniard's care of his women. As the launch swung to starboard her red light shone into the boat, and Dick recognized Don Sebastian sitting next a stout lady in a black dress. There were three or four girls beside them, and then Dick's grasp on the tiller stiffened, for the ruby beam picked out Clare's face. He thought it wore a tired look, but she turned her head, as if dazzled, and the light passed on, and Dick's heart beat as the boat dropped back into the gloom. Since Kenwardine had sent Clare with Don Sebastian, he could not be going, and Dick might find an opportunity for speaking to her alone. He meant to do so, although the interview would not be free from embarrassment. Then he avoided another boat, and stopping the engine, steered for the steamer's ladder.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE ALTERED SAILING LIST

When dinner was over, Dick sat by himself in a quiet spot on the liner's quarter-deck. There was a tall, iron bulwark beside him, but close by this was replaced by netted rails, through which he caught the pale shimmer of the sea. The warm land-breeze had freshened and ripples splashed against the vessel's side, while every now and then a languid gurgle rose from about her waterline and the foam her plates threw off was filled with phosphorescent flame. A string band was playing on the poop, and passengers and guests moved through the intricate figures of a Spanish dance on the broad deck below. Their poses were graceful and their dress was picturesque, but Dick watched them listlessly.

He was not in a mood for dancing, for he had been working hard at the dam and his thoughts were disturbed. Clare had refused him, and although he did not accept her decision as final, he could see no way of taking her out of her father's hands, while he had made no progress towards unraveling the latter's plots. Kenwardine was not on board, but Dick had only seen Clare at some distance off across the table in the saloon. Moreover, he thought she must have taken some trouble to avoid meeting him.

Then he remembered the speeches made by the visitors at dinner, and the steamship officers' replies. The former, colored by French and Spanish politeness and American wit, eulogized the power of the British navy and the courage of her merchant captains. There was war, they said, but British commerce went on without a check; goods shipped beneath the red ensign would be delivered safe in spite of storm and strife; Britannia, with trident poised, guarded the seas. For this the boldly-announced sailing list served as text, but Dick, who made allowances for exuberant Latin sentiment, noted the captain's response with some surprise.

His speech was flamboyant, and did not harmonize with the character of the man, who had called at the port before in command of another ship. He was gray-haired and generally reserved. Dick had not expected him to indulge in cheap patriotism, but he called the British ensign the meteor flag, defied its enemies, and declared that no hostile fleets could prevent his employers carrying their engagements out. Since the man was obviously sober, Dick supposed he was touting for business and wanted to assure the merchants that the sailings of the company's steamers could be relied upon. Still, this kind of thing was not good British form.

By and by Don Sebastian came down a ladder from the saloon deck with Clare behind him. Dick felt tempted to retire but conquered the impulse and the Spaniard came up.

"I have some business with the purser, who is waiting for me, but cannot find my senora," he explained, and Dick, knowing that local conventions forbade his leaving Clare alone, understood it as a request that he should take care of her until the other's return.

"I should be glad to stay with Miss Kenwardine," he answered with a bow, and when Don Sebastian went off opened a deck-chair and turned to the girl.

"You see how I was situated!" he said awkwardly.

Clare smiled as she sat down. "Yes; you are not to blame. Indeed, I do not see why you should apologize."

"Well," said Dick, "I hoped that I might meet you, though I feared you would sooner I did not. When I saw you on the ladder, I felt I ought to steal away, but must confess that I was glad when I found it was too late. Somehow, things seem to bring us into opposition. They have done so from the beginning."

"You're unnecessarily frank," Clare answered with a blush. "Since you couldn't steal away, wouldn't it have been better not to hint that I was anxious to avoid you? After all, I could have done so if I had really wanted."

"I expect that's true. Of course what happened when we last met couldn't trouble you as it troubled me."

"Are you trying to be tactful now?" Clare asked, smiling.

"No; it's my misfortune that I haven't much tact. If I had, I might be able to straighten matters out."

"Don't you understand that they can't be straightened out?"

"I don't," Dick answered stubbornly. "For all that, I won't trouble you again until I find a way out of the tangle."

Clare gave him a quick, disturbed look. "It would be much better if you took it for granted that we must, to some extent, be enemies."

"No. I'm afraid your father and I are enemies, but that's not the same."

"It is; you can see that it must be," Clare insisted; and then, as if anxious to change the subject, went on: "He was too busy to bring me to-night so I came with Don Sebastian and his wife. It is not very gay in Santa Brigida and one gets tired of being alone."

Her voice fell a little as she concluded, and Dick, who understood something of her isolation from friends of her race, longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. Indeed, had the quarter-deck been deserted he might have tried, for he felt that her refusal had sprung from wounded pride and a sense of duty. There was something in her manner that hinted that it had not been easy to send him away. Yet he saw she could be firm and thought it wise to follow her lead.

"Then your father has been occupied lately," he remarked.

"Yes; he is often away. He goes to Adexe and is generally busy in the evenings. People come to see him and keep him talking in his room. Our friends no longer spend the evening in the patio."

Dick understood her. She wanted to convince him that Kenwardine was a business man and only gambled when he had nothing else to do. Indeed, her motive was rather pitifully obvious, and Dick knew that he had not been mistaken about her character. Clare had, no doubt, once yielded to her father's influence, but it was impossible that she took any part in his plots. She was transparently honest; he knew this as he watched her color come and go.

"After all, I don't think you liked many of the people who came," he said.

"I liked Jake," she answered and stopped with a blush, while Dick felt half ashamed, because he had deprived her of the one companion she could trust.

"Well," he said, "it isn't altogether my fault that Jake doesn't come to see you. We have had some accidents that delayed the work and he has not been able to leave the dam."

He was silent for the next few minutes. Since Clare was eager to defend Kenwardine, she might be led to tell something about his doings from which a useful hint could be gathered, and Dick greatly wished to know who visited his house on business. Still, it was impossible that he should make the girl betray her father. The fight was between him and Kenwardine, and Clare must be kept outside it. With this resolve, he began to talk about the dancing, and soon afterward Jake came up and asked Clare for the next waltz. She smiled and gave Dick a challenging glance.