THE DELAYED MESSAGE
It was a few days after the _Palestrina_ had sailed when Dom Clemente
once more sat behind the pillars in a basket chair looking
thoughtfully at his unlighted cigar. He could when it appeared
advisable move energetically and to some effect, but he was not fond
of action, or conversation, for its own sake, and he seldom told
anybody else what was in his mind. There are men who apparently find a
pleasure in doing so, and in their case the task is as a rule a
particularly easy one, but Dom Clemente had no sympathy with them.
When the time was ripe he acted on his opinions, but otherwise he was
placid, tolerantly courteous, and inscrutable. Still, there were men
concerned in the government of his country who had confidence in him.
It happened that a little cargo steamer on her way north had crept in
that morning with engines broken down, and her British skipper, who
had certain favors to ask, had been sent to Dom Clemente. He had gone
away contented a few minutes earlier, but he had incidentally supplied
Dom Clemente with a piece of information which, although he was not
altogether astonished at it, had made him thoughtful. At last he rose,
and laying down his cigar strolled forward leisurely to where,
looking down between the pillars, he could see his daughter in the
patio below. She did not see him, for she was sitting with a book
turned back upwards upon her knee and apparently gazing straight
before her at a trellis draped with flowers. He would have greatly
liked to know what she was thinking, but since he recognized that this
was one of the wishes that must remain ungratified he turned away
again with a little gesture which was chiefly expressive of
resignation. He could deal with men, but he had already found that the
charge of a motherless daughter was something of a responsibility.
Then he called a negro whom he dispatched with a message, and leaned
against one of the pillars until a man in uniform with a big sword
belted to him came in.
"Sit down," he said, pointing to the table. "Write what I tell you."
The man did as he was bidden, and Dom Clemente nodded when he was
shown the letter. "You will take it across to the Lieutenant Frequillo
and tell him to send a few men direct to the Bahia if he considers it
advisable," he said. "Then you will see the messenger Pacheco
dispatched with it. The matter, as you will understand, is urgent. As
you go down say that I should like a word with the Señorita Benicia if
she is at liberty."
His companion went out with the letter of instructions which was
directed to the officer in command of the handful of dusky soldiers
who had been sent up to inquire for news of Ormsgill, and Dom Clemente
who sat down again waited until his daughter came in. She stood
looking at him expectantly until he turned and pointed to the little
British steamer.
"The captain of that vessel has just been in," he said. "He told me
with some resentment that a white steam yacht went by him two days
ago, and took no notice of his signals. The captain, it seems, was
very anxious to be towed in here."
"I do not think that concerns me," said Benicia.
"The yacht," said Dom Clemente, "had a single funnel, a long
deck-house, and two masts, which, of course, is not unusual, but it is
most unlikely that there are two yachts of that description anywhere
near this coast. The point is that she was steaming very fast, and
heading south, which is certainly not the way to Nigeria."
Benicia appeared to straighten herself a trifle, but save for the
little movement she was very quiet, and she looked at her father with
eyes that were almost as inscrutable as his own. Still, she recognized
that she was at a disadvantage, since it was evident that the course
he meant to take was clear to him, and she was in a state of anxious
uncertainty.
"It is," he continued tranquilly, "a little astonishing how these
Englishmen recognize the natural facilities of a country. There is
down the coast a little bay which I have long had my eyes upon. Some
day, perhaps, we will build a deep water pier there and make a railway
across the littoral. No other place has so many advantages. It offers,
among others, a natural road to the interior."
The girl could have faced a direct question better than this
preamble, which Dom Clemente no doubt guessed.
"The Señor Desmond is not a commercialist," she said. "Why should this
interest him?"
"Well," said Dom Clemente, "one could fancy that it does, for he is
certainly going there." He stopped for a moment, and then his tone was
sharp and incisive. "The question is, who sent him?"
Benicia saw the little glint in his dark eyes, but she met his gaze.
She was clever enough to realize that there was only one course open
to her.
"Ah," she said, "I almost think you know."
The man made a little gesture. "At least, I do not know how the affair
concerns you."
Benicia sat down in the nearest chair, and a faint warmth crept into
her face, for this was the last point she desired to make clear, and
Dom Clemente's eyes were still fixed upon her. It was evident that he
expected an answer, and it said a good deal for her courage that her
voice was steady.
"You are aware that I have spoiled your plans?" she said.
"That," said Dom Clemente dryly, "is another matter. I am not sure
that you have spoiled them. I would, however, like to hear your
reasons for meddling with them."
It was the same question in a different guise, and she nerved herself
to face it.
"The Señor Ormsgill is doing a very chivalrous thing," she said. "It
is one in which he has my sympathy--one could almost fancy that he
has yours, too."
This was a bold venture, but she saw the man's faint smile. "I have a
duty here, and that counts for most," he said. "Then it was sympathy
with this man Ormsgill that influenced you?"
"Not altogether. I hate the Chefe at San Roque. You know why that is
natural, and, after all, it was you who had him sent there. Apart from
that, is it not clear that he and the trader Herrero and Domingo play
into each other's hands up yonder? The traffic they are engaged in is
authorized, but the way in which it is carried out is an iniquity."
There were, as it happened, men in that country who held similar
views, but the other reason the girl had proffered seemed to Dom
Clemente the most obvious one, though he fancied it did not go quite
far enough. It was conceivable that she should hate Dom Erminio, who
had been sent up into the bush after bringing discredit upon himself
as well as certain friends of hers. Still, he realized that this was a
matter on which she would never fully enlighten him, and he recognized
his disabilities. It was, perhaps, one of his strong points that he
usually did recognize them, and seldom attempted the impossible. As
the result of this he generally carried out what he took in hand. Dom
Clemente was first of all a soldier, and not one who shone in
civilized society or cared to scheme for preferment by social
influence, which was probably why he had been sent out to a secondary
command in Africa. He had friends who said he might have gone further
had he been less faithful to his dead wife's memory.
"Well," he said, "it was certainly my intention to arrest this man
Ormsgill. I admit that I have a certain sympathy with him, and that is
partly why I am a little anxious to keep him from involving himself in
useless difficulties."
"Do you think a man of his kind would be grateful for that?"
Dom Clemente made a little gesture of indifference. "I do not know. It
is, after all, not a point that very much concerns me, though he is
doing a perilous thing by meddling with our affairs, especially in the
bush yonder."
"Ah," said Benicia, "then is nobody to meddle, and is this iniquity to
go on?"
Dom Clemente smiled dryly. "I almost think," he said, "that when the
time is ripe there will, as usual, be a man ready to take the affair
in hand. In the meanwhile it would be a very undesirable thing that
any one should point to you as a friend of this rash Englishman."
He rose, and buckling on his sword went down the outer stairway, while
Benicia sat still with her cheeks burning. She fancied Dom Clemente
had meant a good deal more than he had said, but, after all, that did
not greatly trouble her. She was not one who counted the cost, and it
was not quite clear that she had failed, though she knew troops had
been dispatched to head off Ormsgill from the coast. It was possible
that he had slipped past them, and the _Palestrina_ would be waiting
at the Bahia Santiago, and then it flashed upon her that it would not
be difficult for her father to send the man in command of the troops
instructions to proceed direct to the Bahia by a fast messenger. While
she considered the point it happened that the officer he had handed
the instructions to came up the stairway.
"I wonder if you know where the messenger Pacheco is, Señorita?" he
said. "I have an urgent errand for him."
Benicia saw that he had a packet in his hand, and a swift glance at
the table showed her that the writing materials were not exactly as
they had been laid out an hour or two earlier. Somebody, it seemed,
had written a letter, and she could make a shrewd guess at its
purport. For a moment she stood looking at the officer, and thinking
hard. It was evident that her father had a certain liking for
Ormsgill, but she felt that he would probably not allow it to
influence him to any great extent. He was apparently working out some
cleverly laid plan of his own, and it was evident that she would incur
a heavy responsibility by meddling with it, but after all Ormsgill's
safety stood first with her.
"I am not sure, but I think he is in the house," she said.
She left the officer waiting, and entering her own room hastily wrote
a note. Then she went down the inner stairway with it in her hand, and
crossing the patio glanced up for a moment at the balustrade above.
Fortunately, the officer was not leaning over it, and did not see her
slip into a store room where a big dusky man was talking to the
negress cook, with whom, as it happened, he was a favorite. Western
Africa is indifferently supplied with telegraphic and postal
facilities and messages are still usually carried by native runners.
There were none of them anywhere about that city as fast or trusty as
Pacheco, and Benicia smiled as she looked at him. He was lean and hard
and muscular, a man who had made famous journeys in the service of the
Government, which was exactly why she did not wish him to be available
for another one.
"I have a message for the Señora Blanco," she said. "I should like her
to get it before she goes to sleep in the afternoon, and you will
start now, but if it is very hot you need make no great haste in
bringing me back the answer."
Pacheco rose with a grin. "It is only two leagues to the plantation,"
he said. "Though the road is rough, that is nothing to me."
Then the plump negro woman caught Benicia's eyes, and, though she said
nothing, there was comprehension in her dusky face. The girl went out
in the patio satisfied, and stood waiting behind a creeper-covered
trellis. She felt she could leave the matter in the hands of the
negress with confidence. The latter turned to the messenger with a
compassionate smile.
"You have the sense of a trek-ox. It is in your legs," she said. "The
Señorita does not wish you to distress yourself if the day is hot."
"But," said Pacheco, "it is always hot, and no journey of that kind
could weary me."
The woman made a little grimace. "The trek-ox is slow to understand
and one teaches it with the stick. Sometimes the same thing is done
with a man. It seems the Señorita does not wish to see how fast you
could go."
At last Pacheco seemed to understand. "Ah," he said, "there are thorns
in this country. Now and then one gets one in his foot."
"The Señorita would be sorry if you came home limping. Once or twice I
have cut my hand with the chopper, and she was kind to me."
The man chuckled softly and went out, and Benicia standing in the
shadow felt her heart beat as she watched him slip across the patio.
There would probably be complications if the officer saw him from
above. Nobody, however, appeared among the pillars, and the shadowy
arch that led through the building was not far away. The negro's feet
fell softly on the hot stones, and though the slight patter sounded
horribly distinct to her nobody called out to stop him. He had almost
reached the arch when a uniformed figure appeared between two of the
pillars, and for a moment the girl held her breath. If the man moved
another foot it was evident that he must see the messenger, but, as it
happened, he stood where he was, and next moment Pacheco, who turned
and looked back at her with a grin, slipped into the shadow of the
arch. Then Benicia went back into the house a little quiver of relief
running through her. It would, she knew, be possible to obtain other
messengers, but none of them were so well acquainted with the native
paths which traverse the littoral or so speedy as Pacheco, and she did
not think he would be available until the evening.
In the meantime the officer waited above, until growing impatient, he
summoned the major domo, who sent for the negress.
"Pacheco was certainly in the house because he talked to me, but he
went out with a message, and I do not know when he will be back
again," she said.
The officer asked her several questions without, however, eliciting
much further information, and went away somewhat perplexed. He could
not help a fancy that Benicia was somehow connected with the
messenger's disappearance, but there was nothing to suggest what her
object could have been. She was also a lady of influence, and he
wisely decided to keep his thoughts to himself. As it happened,
Pacheco did not arrive until late that night, and another messenger
was dispatched in the meanwhile. He, however, became involved amidst a
waste of tall grass which Pacheco would have skirted, and afterwards
wasted a day or two endeavoring to carry out the directions certain
villagers who bore the Government no great good-will had given him. As
the result of this the handful of black soldiers had wandered a good
deal further inland before he came up with them.
In the meantime it happened the morning after he set out that Dom
Clemente sent for Pacheco who was just then sitting in the cook's
store nursing an injured foot. They exchanged glances when the
major-domo informed him that his presence would be required in a few
minutes, and after the latter had gone out the negress handed Pacheco
a sharp-pointed knife.
"It is wise to make certain when one has to answer a man like Dom
Clemente, and the scratch the thorn made was not a very large one,"
she said.
Pacheco took the knife, and looked at it hesitatingly.
"The thing would be easier if it was some other person's foot. It
will, no doubt, hurt," he said.
"It will hurt less than what Dom Clemente may order you," and the
negress grinned. "A man is always afraid of bearing a little pain."
Pacheco decided that she was probably right, and set his thick lips as
he laid the knife point against the ball of his big toe. Still, for it
is probable that there are respects in which the negro's
susceptibilities are less than those of the civilized white man, he
steadily pressed the blade in. After that he wrapped up his foot
again, and rose with a wry face.
"I was given a bottle of anisado and a small piece of silver
yesterday," he said. "I almost think I deserve a little more for
this."
Then he limped up the stairway leaving red marks behind him, and made
a little deprecatory gesture when he appeared before Dom Clemente. The
latter looked at him in a fashion which sent a thrill of dismay
through him.
"I hear you have hurt your foot," he said. "Take that bandage off."
Pacheco, who dare not hesitate, sat down and unrolled the rag. Then
with considerable misgivings he did as he was bidden and held up his
foot.
"Ah," said Dom Clemente dryly, "a thorn did that. The wound a thorn
makes seems to keep curiously fresh. Well, you can put on the rag
again."
Pacheco did it as hastily as he could while he wondered with a growing
uneasiness what the man who regarded him with a little sardonic smile
would ask him next. Dom Clemente, however, made him a sign to get up.
"One would recommend you to be more careful," he said. "You will have
reason to regret it if the next time I have an errand for you you have
a--thorn--in your foot."
Pacheco limped away with sincere relief, and Dom Clemente who sat
still contemplatively smoked a cigar. While he did it he once more
decided that it is now and then advisable to content oneself with
simply looking on, and it was characteristic of him that when he next
met Benicia he asked her no questions.