THE SILVER CLASP
It was about eleven o'clock on a hot morning and Kenwardine, who had
adopted native customs, was leisurely getting his breakfast in the patio.
Two or three letters lay among the fruit and wine, but he did not mean to
open them yet. He was something of a sybarite and the letters might blunt
his enjoyment of the well-served meal. Clare, who had not eaten much, sat
opposite, watching him. His pose as he leaned back with a wineglass in
his hand was negligently graceful, and his white clothes, drawn in at the
waist by a black silk sash, showed his well-knit figure. There were
touches of gray in his hair and wrinkles round his eyes, but in spite of
this he had a look of careless youth. Clare, however, thought she noticed
a hint of preoccupation that she knew and disliked.
Presently Kenwardine picked out an envelope with a British stamp from
among the rest and turned it over before inserting a knife behind the
flap, which yielded easily, as if the gum had lost its strength. Then he
took out the letter and smiled with ironical amusement. If it had been
read by any unauthorized person before it reached him, the reader would
have been much misled, but it told him what he wanted to know. There was
one word an Englishman or American would not have used, though a Teuton
might have done so, but Kenwardine thought a Spaniard would not notice
this, even if he knew English well. The other letters were not important,
and he glanced at his daughter.
Clare was not wearing well. She had lost her color and got thin. The
climate was enervating, and Englishwomen who stayed in the country long
felt it more than men, but this did not quite account for her jaded look.
"I am afraid you are feeling the hot weather, and perhaps you have been
indoors too much," he said. "I must try to take you about more when I
come back."
"Then you are going away! Where to?"
Kenwardine would have preferred to hide his destination, but since this
would be difficult it seemed safer not to try and there was no reason why
his household should not know.
"To Jamaica. I have some business in Kingston, but it won't keep me
long."
"Can you take me?"
"I think not," said Kenwardine, who knew his visit would be attended by
some risk. "For one thing, I'll be occupied all the time, and as I must
get back as soon as possible, may have to travel by uncomfortable boats.
You will be safe with Lucille."
"Oh, yes," Clare agreed with languid resignation. "Still, I would have
liked a change."
Kenwardine showed no sign of yielding and she said nothing more. She had
chosen to live with him, and although she had not known all that the
choice implied, must obey his wishes. For all that, she longed to get
away. It had cost her more than she thought to refuse Dick, and she felt
that something mysterious and disturbing was going on. Kenwardine's
carelessness had not deceived her; she had watched him when he was off
his guard and knew that he was anxious.
"You don't like Santa Brigida?" he suggested. "Well, if things go as I
hope, I may soon be able to sell out my business interests and leave the
country. Would that please you?"
Clare's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. Now there was a prospect of its
ending, she could allow herself to admit how repugnant the life she led
had grown. She had hated the gambling, and although this had stopped, the
mystery and hidden intrigue that followed it were worse. If her father
gave it all up, they need no longer be outcasts, and she could live as an
English girl ought to do. Besides, it would be easier to forget Dick
Brandon when she went away.
"Would we go back to England?" she asked eagerly.
"I hardly think that would be possible," Kenwardine replied. "We might,
however, fix upon one of the quieter cities near the Atlantic coast of
America. I know two or three that are not too big and are rather
old-fashioned, with something of the charm of the Colonial days, where I
think you might find friends that would suit your fastidious taste."
Clare tried to look content. Of late, she had longed for the peaceful,
well-ordered life of the English country towns, but it seemed there was
some reason they could not go home.
"Any place would be better than Santa Brigida," she said. "But I must
leave you to your letters. I am going out to buy some things."
The sun was hot when she left the patio, but there was a strip of shade
on one side of the street and she kept close to the wall, until turning a
corner, she entered a blaze of light. The glare from the pavement and
white houses was dazzling and she stopped awkwardly, just in time to
avoid collision with a man. He stood still and she looked down as she saw
that it was Dick and noted the satisfaction in his eyes.
"I'm afraid I wasn't keeping a very good lookout," he said.
"You seemed to be in a hurry," Clare rejoined, half hoping he would go
on; but as he did not, she resumed: "However, you generally give one the
impression of having something important to do."
Dick laughed. "That's wrong just now, because I'm killing time. I've an
hour to wait before the launch is ready to go to sea."
"Then you are sailing somewhere along the coast," said Clare, who moved
forward, and Dick taking her permission for granted, turned and walked by
her side.
"Yes. I left Jake at the mole, putting provisions on board."
"It looks as if you would be away some time," Clare remarked carelessly.
Dick thought she was not interested and felt relieved. It had been
announced at the irrigation camp that he was going to Coronal to engage
workmen, in order that the report might reach Kenwardine. He had now an
opportunity of sending the latter misleading news, but he could not make
use of Clare in this way.
"I expect so, but can't tell yet when we will be back," he said.
"Well," said Clare, "I shall feel that I am left alone. My father is
going to Kingston and doesn't know when he will return. Then you and Mr.
Fuller----"
She stopped with a touch of embarrassment, wondering whether she had said
too much, but Dick looked at her gravely.
"Then you will miss us?"
"Yes," she admitted with a blush. "I suppose I shall, in a sense. After
all, I really know nobody in Santa Brigida; that is, nobody I like. Of
course, we haven't seen either of you often, but then----"
"You liked to feel we were within call if we were wanted? Well, I wish I
could put off our trip, but I'm afraid it's impossible now."
"That would be absurd," Clare answered, smiling, and they went on in
silence for the next few minutes.
She felt that she had shown her feelings with raw candor, and the worst
was that Dick was right. Though he thought she had robbed him, and was
somehow her father's enemy, she did like to know he was near. Then there
had been something curious in his tone and he had asked her nothing about
her father's voyage. Indeed, it looked as if he meant to avoid the
subject, although politeness demanded some remark.
"I am going shopping at the Almacen Morales," she said by and by, giving
him an excuse to leave her if he wished.
"Then, if you don't mind, I'll come too. It will be out of this blazing
sun, and there are a few things Jake told me to get."
It was a relief to enter the big, cool, general store, but when Clare
went to the dry-goods counter Dick turned aside to make his purchases.
After this, he strolled about, examining specimens of native
feather-work, and was presently seized by an inspiration as he stopped
beside some Spanish lace. Clare ought to wear fine lace. The intricate,
gauzy web would harmonize with her delicate beauty, but the trouble was
that he was no judge of the material. A little farther on, a case of
silver filigree caught his eye and he turned over some of the articles.
This was work he knew more about, and it was almost as light and fine as
the lace. The design was good and marked by a fantastic Eastern grace,
for it had come from the Canaries and the Moors had taught the Spaniards
how to make it long ago. After some deliberation, Dick chose a belt-clasp
in a box by itself, and the girl who had been waiting on him called a
clerk.
"You have a good eye, señor," the man remarked. "The clasp was meant for
a sample and not for sale."
"Making things is my business and I know when they're made well," Dick
answered modestly. "Anyhow, I want the clasp."
The clerk said they would let him have it because he sometimes bought
supplies for the camp, and Dick put the case in his pocket. Then he
waited until Clare was ready and left the store with her. He had bought
the clasp on an impulse, but now feared that she might not accept his
gift. After a time, he took it out.
"This caught my eye and I thought you might wear it," he said with
diffidence.
Clare took the open case, for at first the beauty of the pattern seized
her attention. Then she hesitated and turned to him with some color in
her face.
"It is very pretty, but why do you want to give it to me?"
"To begin with, the thing has an airy lightness that ought to suit you.
Then you took care of me and we were very good friends when I was ill.
I'd like to feel I'd given you something that might remind you of this.
Besides, you see, I'm going away----"
"But you are coming back."
"Yes; but things might happen in the meantime."
"What kind of things?" Clare asked in vague alarm.
"I don't know," Dick said awkwardly. "Still, disturbing things do happen.
Anyhow won't you take the clasp?"
Clare stood irresolute with the case in her hand. It was strange, and to
some extent embarrassing that Dick should insist upon making her the
present. He had humiliated her and it was impossible that she could marry
him, but there was an appeal in his eyes that was hard to deny. Besides,
the clasp was beautiful and he had shown nice taste in choosing it for
her.
"Very well," she said gently. "I will keep it and wear it now and then."
Dick made a sign of gratitude and they went on, but Clare stopped at the
next corner and held out her hand.
"I must not take you any farther," she said firmly. "I wish you a good
voyage."
She went into a shop and Dick turned back to the harbor where he boarded
the launch. The boat was loaded deep with coal, the fireman was busy, and
soon after the provisions Dick had bought arrived, steam was up. He took
the helm, the engine began to throb, and they glided through the cool
shadow along the mole. When they met the smooth swell at the harbor mouth
the sea blazed with reflected light, and Dick was glad to fix his eyes
upon the little compass in the shade of the awning astern. The boat
lurched away across the long undulations, with the foam curling up about
her bow and rising aft in a white following wave.
"I thought of leaving the last few bags of coal," Jake remarked. "There's
not much life in her and we take some chances of being washed off if she
meets a breaking sea."
"It's a long run and we'll soon burn down the coal, particularly as we'll
have to drive her hard to catch the Danish boat," Dick replied. "If we
can do that, we'll get Kenwardine's steamer at her last port of call.
It's lucky she isn't going direct to Kingston."
"You have cut things rather fine, but I suppose you worked it out from
the sailing lists. The worst is that following the coast like this takes
us off our course."
Dick nodded. After making some calculations with Don Sebastian's help, he
had found it would be possible to catch a small Danish steamer that would
take them to a port at which Kenwardine's boat would arrive shortly
afterwards. But since it had been given out that he was going to Coronal,
he must keep near the coast until he passed Adexe. This was necessary,
because Kenwardine would not risk a visit to Jamaica, which was British
territory, if he thought he was being followed.
"We'll make it all right if the weather keeps fine," he answered.
They passed Adexe in the afternoon and boldly turned seawards across a
wide bay. At sunset the coast showed faintly in the distance, obscured by
the evening mist, and the land breeze began to blow. It was hot and
filled with strange, sour and spicy smells, and stirred the sea into
short, white ripples that rapidly got larger. They washed across the
boat's half-immersed stern and now and then splashed on board at her
waist; but Dick kept the engine going full speed and sat at the tiller
with his eyes fixed upon the compass. It was not easy to steer by,
because the lurching boat was short and the card span in erratic jerks
when she began to yaw about, swerving off her course as she rose with the
seas.
The night got very dark, for the land-breeze brought off a haze, but the
engine lamp and glow from the furnace door threw an elusive glimmer about
the craft. White sea-crests chased and caught her up, and rolling forward
broke between the funnel and the bows. Water splashed on board, the
engine hissed as the spray fell on it, and the floorings got wet. One
could see the foam on deck wash about the headledge forward as the bows
went up with a sluggishness that was the consequence of carrying an extra
load of coal.
The fireman could not steer by compass, and after a time Jake took the
helm from his tired companion. Dick lay down under the side deck, from
which showers of brine poured close beside his head, but did not go to
sleep. He was thinking of Clare and what he must do when he met her
father. It was important that they should catch Kenwardine's boat, since
he must not be allowed to land and finish his business before they
arrived. In the meanwhile, he listened to the measured clank of the
engine, which quickened when the top blade of the screw swung out. So
long as she did not lift the others she would travel well, but by and by
he heard a splash in the crank-pit and called to the fireman, who started
the pump.
Day broke in a blaze of fiery splendor, and the dripping launch dried.
The coast was near, the sea got smooth, and the tired men were glad of
the heat of the red sun. By and by the breeze died away, and the long
swell heaved in a glassy calm, glittering with silver and vivid blue.
When their clothes were dry they loosed and spread the awning, and a
pungent smell of olive oil and coffee floated about the boat as the
fireman cooked breakfast. After they had eaten, Dick moved a bag or two
of coal to trim the craft and sounded the tank, because a high-pressure
engine uses a large quantity of fresh water. Then he unrolled a chart and
measured the distance to their port while Jake looked over his shoulder.
"We ought to be in time," he said. "The advertisement merely stated that
the boat would sail to-day, but as she didn't leave the last port until
yesterday and she'd have some cargo to ship, it's unlikely that she'll
clear before noon."
"It might have been safer to telegraph, booking two berths. These little
boats don't often miss a chance of picking up a few dollars, and the
skipper would have waited."
"I thought about that; but the telegram would have shown what we were
after if Kenwardine has bribed somebody in the office, which is
possible."
"You seem convinced he has had an important part in these attacks on
merchant ships," Jake said thoughtfully.
"It's hard to doubt."
"The man's by way of being a friend of mine and took you into his house
when you were in some danger of bleeding to death. I'm not sure that he's
guilty, and now I've come with you, am going to see he gets fair play;
but if you can prove your charge, you may do what you like with him. I
think we'll let it go at that."
Dick nodded. "In the first place, we must make our port, and it's lucky
we'll have smooth water until the sea breeze gets up."
Telling the fireman he could go to sleep, he moved about the engine with
an oilcan and afterwards cleaned the fire. Then he lay on the counter
with his hand on the helm while the launch sped across the glassy sea,
leaving a long wake astern. The high coast ahead got clearer, but after a
time dark-blue lines began to streak the glistening water and puffs of
wind fanned the men's faces. The puffs were gratefully fresh and the heat
felt intolerable when they passed, but by and by they settled into a
steady draught and the dark lines joined, until the sea was all a glowing
ultramarine. Then small ripples splashed about the launch and Dick
glanced ahead.
"She's steaming well," he said as he listened to the steady snort of the
exhaust and humming of the cranks. "It's lucky, because there's some
weight in the wind."
Some hours later, when the sea was flecked with white, they closed with a
strip of gray-green forest that seemed to run out into the water. The
launch rolled and lurched as the foam-tipped combers hove her up and the
awning flapped savagely in the whistling breeze. Away on the horizon,
there was a dingy trail of smoke. Presently Jake stood up on deck, and
watched the masts that rose above the fringe of trees.
"There's a black-top funnel like the Danish boat's, and a flag with red
and white on it, but it's hanging limp. They don't feel the breeze
inside."
He jumped down as Dick changed his course, and they passed a spit of
surf-washed sand, rounded the last clump of trees, and opened up the
harbor mouth. The sunshine fell upon a glaring white and yellow town, and
oily water glittered between the wharf and the dark hulls of anchored
vessels, but Dick suddenly set his lips. He knew the Danish boat, and she
was not there.
"She's gone," said Jake with a hint of relief in his voice. "That was her
smoke on the skyline."