DESMOND MAKES AN ADMISSION
Two months had slipped by since Ormsgill and his carefully chosen
carriers had vanished into the steamy bush which climbs the slopes of
the inland plateaux, when the _Palestrina_ steamed in towards the
straggling, sun-scorched town. She came on at half-speed, gleaming
ivory white, in a blaze of brightness, with a man strapped outside her
bridge swinging the heavy lead, until Desmond, who swept the shore
line with his glasses, raised his hand. Then the propeller whirled
hard astern and she stopped amidst a roar of running chain. Next the
awnings were stretched across her aft, and after a beautiful white gig
sank down her side, a trimly uniformed crew pulled Desmond ashore to
interview the men in authority.
He found them courteous. Though that is not a coast which English
yachts frequent, one had called there not very long before, and they
had a pleasant recollection of the hospitality they had enjoyed on
board her. Besides, it was very soon evident that this red-faced
yachtsman was not one of the troublesome Englishmen who demand
information about social and political matters which do not concern
them. Desmond took the authorities off to dinner, and showed them his
sporting rifles and one or two letters given him by gentlemen of
their own nationality whom he had similarly entertained at Funchal
Madeira. His young companion with the heavy sea-bronzed face was even
more ingenuous, and there was no doubt that the wine and cigars were
excellent.
Strangers with any means were also singularly scarce in that town, and
its rulers finding Desmond friendly made much of him, and supplied him
freely with the information he required respecting the localities
where one might still come across big game. He was, in fact, a social
success, and contrived to spend a fortnight there very pleasantly.
Still, there was one of his new friends who considered it advisable to
take certain precautions, which came indirectly to the knowledge of
the latter's daughter.
It also happened that Desmond's companion, Lister, who went ashore
alone now and then, enjoyed himself in his own fashion. He was a young
man whose tastes and idiosyncrasies had caused his friends at home
some anxiety, and they had for certain reasons prevailed upon Desmond
to take him to sea for a few months out of harm's way. Lister
submitted unwillingly, but he discovered that even that sweltering
African town had pleasures to offer him, and determined on making the
most of them.
It was a very hot evening when he sat in the patio of a little
flat-topped house which bore a legend outside announcing that it was a
_caffee_. A full moon hung above the city and flooded half the little
square round which the building rose with silvery light. The summit of
the white walls cut sharply against the cloudless blue, and the land
breeze flowed in through a low archway heavy with heat and smells. Now
and then the roar of the Atlantic surf swelled in volume and rolled
across the roofs in a deep-toned rumbling. Lister, however, naturally
noticed very little of this.
He lay in a Madeira chair near a little table upon which stood several
flasks of wine and glasses, as well as a bundle of cigarettes. A lamp
hung above him, and his light white clothing displayed the fleshiness
of his big, loosely-hung frame. His face was a trifle flushed, and
there was a suggestive gleam in his eyes when he glanced towards the
unglazed square of lighted window behind which a comely damsel of
somewhat dusky skin was singing to a mandolin, but the occasional
bursts of hoarse laughter made it evident that the lady had other
companions, and there was then a little but rather painful punctured
wound in one of Lister's hands. She had made it that afternoon with a
slender silver-headed strip of steel which she wore in her dusky hair,
and Lister could take a hint when it was plain enough.
As it happened, a partial acquaintance with one or two Latin languages
had been drilled into him in preparation for a certain branch of his
country's service to which prejudiced persons had eventually denied
him admission, and he had afterwards acquired sundry scraps of
Portuguese in Madeiran wine-shops. As the result of this, his
companions understood part, at least, of what he said. Two of them who
had very yellow hands and somewhat crisp black hair were shaking dice
upon the table, while a third lay quietly in a basket lounge watching
the Englishman with keen dark eyes. The latter threw a piece of paper
money down on the table.
"It's against me," he said. "I'll double on the same odds you don't
shake as high again. Pass your friend the wine, Dom Domingo."
The quiet man made this a trifle plainer, and thrust the wine flask
across the table, but Lister did not notice that one of the others
looked at him as if for permission or instructions before he flung the
dice back into the box.
"One who knows the game would not give quite such odds," he said in
passable French. "It is the cards you play on board the steamer?"
"No," said Lister, who had consumed a good deal of wine, "not often. I
wish we did. It would pass the time while we lie waiting off your
blazing beaches."
"Ah," said the little man, "you wait for somebody, then?"
Lister's little start was quite perceptible, but he grinned. "You
can't go inland without taking somebody who knows the way. I think I
told you we were going up country to kill big game."
"But certainly!" and the other spread out his hands. "This is,
however, not the season when one usually sets out on such a journey.
It would be wiser to make it in a month or two. For good heads you
must also go inland a long way. You start from--?"
"The Bahia Santiago," but Lister recollected next moment, and looked
at his companion truculently with half-closed eyes. "It seems to me
you have a good many questions to ask. Besides, you stop the game."
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly, and answered one of the
others' inquiring glance with a just perceptible motion of his head.
"Your pardon, señor," he said. "It was good advice I gave you about
the odds."
He rose and slowly sauntered across the patio, but Lister did not
notice that he stopped in the black shadow of the archway. Neither did
the other men, one of whom shook the dice again.
"Ah!" he said. "The luck is once more against you."
Lister poured himself out another glass of wine. He was feeling a
trifle drowsy, and the patio was very hot, but he wished to rouse
himself enough to watch one of the player's thick-fingered yellow
hands. Then flinging down another piece of paper money he reached out
and took the box himself. His lips had shut tight, and though his face
had flushed more deeply his eyes were keen.
They threw twice more while the other man, who appeared to relinquish
his share in the proceedings, good-humoredly looked on, and then
Lister leaned forward suddenly and seized the yellow hand. The box
fell with a clatter, and Lister clutched one of the little spotted
cubes that rolled out upon the table. Then the player's companion
swung out his right arm with a flick of his sleeve, and Lister caught
the gleam of steel. Loosely hung and a trifle slouching as he was, he
was big, and had, at least, no lack of animal courage. He said
nothing, but he flung the man whose hand he held backward upon the
table, which overturned in front of his companion, and snatching a
heavy wine flask from one close by, swung it by the neck.
The man with the knife was a moment recovering his footing, and then
he moved forward, half-crouching, with a cat-like gait. The veins rose
swollen on Lister's forehead, but he stood still, and his big red hand
tightened savagely on the neck of the heavy vessel, which held a quart
or two. The tinkle of the mandolin had ceased abruptly, and for a few
moments there was not a sound in the little patio. Then there was a
sharp command, and the man with the knife slunk backward, as a figure
moved quietly out of the shadow beneath the archway. It was the man
who had questioned Lister, and he laid his hand upon the flask the
latter held.
"With permission I will take it from you," he said. "It is, I think,
convenient that you go back to your steamer."
Lister fancied that he was right, and when three or four men who had
now come out from the lighted room made way for them he followed his
companion out through the archway. The latter called to a man in
dilapidated white uniform, and they proceeded together to where a boat
was waiting. They put Lister on board her, and stood still a minute or
two watching while a couple of negroes rowed him off to the
_Palestrina_. Then one of them laughed.
"There are many fools in this world but one has perhaps no cause to
pity them," he said. "It is as a rule their friends they bring to
grief."
Twenty minutes later he called at Dom Clemente's residence, and was
not exactly pleased when he was shown into the presence of Benicia
Figuera.
"My father is on board the yacht. You have come about the Englishman
you have been watching?" she said.
The man made a little deprecatory gesture. "It is not permissible to
contradict the señorita."
Benicia laughed. "It would not be worth while, my friend. You will
leave your message."
"It is a report for Dom Clemente," and again the man spread out his
hands. One could have fancied he felt it necessary to excuse himself
for such an answer.
"Then," said the girl, "it is, as I think you know, quite safe with
me."
There was no smile in her eyes this time, and her companion thought
rapidly. Then, after another gesture which expressed resignation, he
spoke for some three or four minutes until the girl checked him with a
sign.
"If Dom Clemente has any questions to ask he will send for you," she
said. "If not, you must not trouble him about the matter. I think you
understand?"
It was evident that the man did so, for he went out with a respectful
gesture of comprehension, and then turned and shook a yellow fist at
the door which closed behind him. He could foresee that to do as he
was bidden might involve him in difficulties, but Benicia Figuera was
something of a power in that country, and he knew it was seldom
advisable to thwart her. She, as it happened, sat still thinking for a
time, and as the result of it when Desmond's gig went ashore next
morning a negro handed one of her crew a little note. That afternoon
Desmond dressed himself with somewhat unusual care before he was rowed
ashore, and on being ushered into a white house by a uniformed negro
was not altogether astonished to find Benicia Figuera waiting for him
alone in a big cool room. He had met her in Las Palmas, and she smiled
at him graciously as she pointed to a little table where wine and
cigarettes were laid out.
"They are at your disposal. Here one smokes at all times and
everywhere," she said.
Desmond sat down some distance away from her, for as he said
afterwards, she was astonishingly pretty as well as most artistically
got up, and he was on his guard.
"I almost fancy it is advisable that I should keep my head just now,
and it already promises to be sufficiently difficult," he said with a
twinkle in his eyes. "Dom Clemente is presumably not at home. That is
why you sent for me?"
Now the compliments men offer a lady in the Iberian Peninsula are as a
rule artistically involved, but the girl laughed.
"He will not be back until this evening, but the excellent Señora
Castro in whose charge I am is now sitting on the veranda," she said.
"You need not put your armor on, my friend. It would be useless
anyway."
"Yes," said the man reflectively, "I almost think it would be."
"And my intentions are friendly."
Desmond spread his hands out as the men of her own nationality did.
"The assurance is a relief to me, but I should feel easier if you told
me what you wanted. After all, it could not have been merely the
pleasure of seeing me."
Benicia nodded approvingly. His keenness and good-humored candor
appealed to her. It was also in some respects a pleasure to meet a man
who could come straight to the point. Her Portuguese friends usually
spent an unreasonable time going around it.
"Well," she said, leaning forward and looking at him with eyes which
he afterwards told Ormsgill were worth risking a fortune for, "I will
tell you what I know, and I leave you to decide how far it is
desirable for you to be frank with me. In the first place, you are not
going inland to shoot big game. You are going to wait at the Bahia
Santiago for somebody."
Desmond's face grew a trifle red. "If I had Lister here I think I
should feel tempted to twist his neck for him."
The girl laughed. "It would be an interesting spectacle. I suppose you
know that last night he broke a man's wrist?"
"I did not," said Desmond dryly. "When he amuses himself in that way
he seldom tells me--but, to be quite frank, I've almost had enough of
him. It's rather a pity the other fellow didn't break his head.
Still, perhaps, that's a little outside the question."
"The question is--who are you going to wait for at the Bahia
Santiago?"
"Ah," said Desmond, "I almost think you know."
Benicia smiled. "It is, of course, Mr. Ormsgill. He is a friend of
yours. Now, as you can recognize, it is in my power or that of my
father to involve you in a good many difficulties. I wish to know what
Ormsgill went inland for. It was certainly not on a commercial
venture."
Desmond thought hard for the next half-minute. He was a man who could
face a responsibility, and it was quite clear to him that Miss Figuera
already knew quite enough to ruin his comrade's project if she thought
fit to do so. Still, he felt that she would not think fit. He did not
know how she conveyed this impression, or even if she meant to convey
it, for Benicia Figuera was a lady of some importance in that country,
and, as he reflected, no doubt recognized the fact. She sat
impassively still, with her dark eyes fixed on him, and there was a
certain hint of imperiousness in her manner, until he suddenly made
his mind up.
"Well," he said, "I will try to tell you, though there are, I think,
people who would scarcely understand the thing."
He spoke for some ten minutes, and Benicia sat silent a while when at
last he stopped abruptly. Then she made a little gesture of
comprehension.
"Yes," she said simply, "I think your friend is one of the few men who
could be expected to do such things." Then she laughed. "The girl he
is to marry, the one I saw in Las Palmas, is naturally very vexed with
him?"
"That," said Desmond gravely, "is a subject I scarcely feel warranted
in going into. Besides, as a matter of fact, I don't know. There is,
however, another point I am a little anxious about."
"The course I am likely to take?" and Benicia rose. "Well, it is
scarcely likely to be to your disadvantage, and I think you are wise
in telling me. Still, as you see, I do not bind myself to anything."
Desmond stood up in turn, and made her a little grave inclination. "I
leave it in your hands with confidence. After all, that is the only
course open to me."
"Yes," said Benicia, "I believe it is. Still, you seem to have no
great fear of me betraying you."
"I certainly haven't," said Desmond. "I don't know why."
His companion laughed, and held out her hand to him, and in a few more
minutes Desmond was striding down the hot street towards the beach.
When he reached the boat he turned a moment and looked back towards
the big white house.
"It looks very much as if I'd made a fool of myself, and spoiled the
whole thing, but I don't think I have," he said.
It was two or three hours later, and darkness had suddenly closed down
on the sweltering town, when the scream of a whistle broke through the
drowsy roar of the surf as a mail-boat ringed with blinking lights
crept up to the anchorage. Then Desmond sent for Lister, and drew him
into the room beneath the bridge.
"There doesn't appear to be anything very much for that boat, and
she'll probably clear for the north to-morrow," he said. "You had
better get your things together."
Lister gazed at him with astonishment in his heavy face. "I don't
quite understand you," he said.
"The thing's perfectly simple. You're going north in her. In one or
two respects I'm sorry I have to turn you out, but, to be quite
straight, you're not the kind of man I want beside me now. You're too
fond of company, and have a--inconvenient habit of talking in your
cups."
Lister flushed. "I presume you are referring to my conversation with
that slinking yellow-handed fellow I came across last night? He was a
little inquisitive, but I didn't tell him anything."
"No," said Desmond dryly, "I don't suppose you did. It's often the
points a man of your capacity doesn't mention one deduces the most
from. He generally makes it evident that he's working away from them.
That, however, wouldn't strike you, and any way it doesn't affect the
case. I'm sorry I can't offer to accommodate you on board the
_Palestrina_ any longer. I told your folks I'd keep an eye on you, but
it's becoming too big a responsibility."
Lister gazed at him almost incredulously. "Of course, I'll have to go
if you really mean it. Still, I would like to point out that in some
respects you're not exactly a model yourself."
"That," said Desmond dryly, "is a fact I'm naturally quite aware of. I
like a frolic now and then as well as most other men, but I've sense
enough not to indulge in it when I'm out on business. The trouble is
that what you have done you will very probably do again, and that
wouldn't suit either me or Ormsgill. I'm afraid you'll have to take
the boat north to-morrow."