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 caña 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.