BAITING THE SMUGGLERS
It was late, and the dew was heavy. Macallister's thin clothes were
getting damp as he walked impatiently up and down the mole. The
_Enchantress's_ gig lay near the steps, but her crew had not arrived,
although Macallister had waited half an hour for them. This by no means
pleased him, because, while not a tyrant, he expected his orders to be
obeyed. Besides, he resented the ingratitude of the men. He had agreed
with Grahame that it was prudent to moor the _Enchantress_ out in the
harbor and keep the crew short of money. They had behaved well, and
during the afternoon Macallister had given them a few pesetas and
allowed them a run ashore, although he imagined he had kept within a
limit that would ensure their sobriety.
They had, however, not returned, and he felt disturbed as he watched the
twinkling anchor-lights and the ripples flash in the silvery track the
moon cast across the water. Boats were coming and going, and when one
approached the landing Macallister drew back into the shadow. He had
made the acquaintance of the captain and the engineer of the vessel from
which the boat came, and he did not want to be found waiting for his
unpunctual crew. The footsteps of those who landed were growing faint
when he heard singing farther up the mole. The voice was unsteady, and
the patter of bare feet that accompanied it suggestively uneven.
Macallister knew the song, and was not surprised that his men, who were
obviously coming back the worse for liquor, should show a taste for good
music, for this is common among Spanish-Americans. It was, however,
difficult to understand how they had made the money he had given them go
so far.
"Where kept ye, ye drunken swine?" he asked when they lurched into
sight.
"No savvy," answered his fireman, Pepe, and Macallister explained what
he thought of them in the most virulent epithets used along the Clyde.
This relieved his feelings and satisfied his sense of discipline, but he
did not think it wise to translate his remarks: Spanish half-breeds have
fiery tempers and carry knives.
"Get into the boat before I kick ye off the mole!" he concluded when he
was breathless, and the men clumsily obeyed, though one came near to
falling into the water. They had some trouble in getting out the oars,
but at last they rowed away. Macallister noted that one man placed a
small cane basket under a thwart, and he suspected what was inside.
When they reached the _Enchantress_ he was first on deck, but he waited
by the gangway until the man who carried the basket climbed up.
Macallister held out his hand for the basket, and when the fellow gave
it to him confidingly he hurried aft to examine it by the engine lamp.
It contained two bottles of _anisado_, a spirit flavored with aniseed in
favor in Spanish countries. He felt tempted to throw them overboard,
but refrained because such waste went against the grain, and the liquor
might be doled out when the men had been forced to work unusually hard.
He imagined they had forgotten the matter, and was lighting his pipe
when he heard them coming, and stepped out of the engine-room to meet
them.
"There was a small basket, senor," one said civilly, though his voice
was thick.
"It is possible you dropped it overboard," Macallister suggested in his
best Castilian--which was very bad.
"No, senor. One does not drop such baskets over."
"What was in it, then?"
The man was obviously not sober, but it looked as if he had not lost his
senses.
"A small present to me and the others, Don Andres. You will give it back
to us."
"No," said Macallister sternly. "Presents of that kind are not allowed
on board this ship."
He watched them while they murmured together. They were active, wiry
fellows, obedient as a rule, but liable to passionate outbreaks, like
most of their mixed race. Now they looked drunkenly determined, and he
knew the strength of his fireman, Pepe.
"The basket is ours," said one. "We will take it."
"I think not," said Macallister shortly. "Stand back!"
Their half-respectful mood changed in a flash and they came at him with
a rush. They could wrestle and use the knife, and Macallister knew that
Pepe, who came first, must be stopped. He supposed that Miguel, whom he
had left on board, was asleep; but to summon help would be subversive
of authority and the affair would be over before Miguel arrived. Lunging
forward, he put the weight of his body into his blow, and Pepe reeled
when it landed on his jaw. Before he could recover, Macallister sprang
upon him, and with a strenuous effort flung him backward through the
gangway.
There was a splash in the water and the others stopped, daunted by the
vigor of the attack; but Pepe did not strike out for the gig as
Macallister expected. Indeed, for there was shadow along the vessel's
side, he did not seem to come up, and after a moment's pause Macallister
jumped into the sea. The water closed above him, but when he rose a
white-clad figure was struggling feebly near by and he seized it. Pepe
seemed unable to swim, and Macallister had some trouble in dragging him
to the gig, into which the others had jumped. They pulled both men out
of the water, and in another few minutes Macallister stood, dripping, on
board the _Enchantress_, sternly regarding his fireman. The shock had
apparently sobered him, and the others, with the instability of their
kind, had become suddenly docile.
"Now," said Macallister, "where did you get the _anisado_?"
"A gentleman gave it to us in a cafe."
Macallister shook his head.
"Try again! A gentleman does not give drunken sailors bottles of
liquor."
"We were not drunk then," one of them answered naively. "And he was a
gentleman: he spoke Castilian like the Peninsulares."
"Ah," said Macallister thoughtfully, for the use of good Peninsular
Spanish indicates a man of education. "So he gave you all some wine and
put the bottles in the basket!"
"It was so, Don Andres," another answered with a readiness that invited
belief.
"But why?"
"Who can tell?" Pepe rejoined. "Perhaps the senor was generous; then he
said he liked sailors and tales of the sea."
"You told him some, no doubt," Macallister remarked dryly.
"We did, Don Andres. Herman told him of the great shark that bites off
the fishermen's oars at Punta Anagan, and I about the ghost _caravela_
that beats to windward in Jaurez Strait."
"And what else?"
Pepe shook his head.
"Then there was some cognac and afterward--I do not remember."
"Get below, except the anchor-watch!" Macallister said sternly. "We'll
consider what's to be done with you to-morrow."
They slouched away, and while Macallister was talking to Miguel a splash
of oars grew louder, and presently Grahame clambered up from a shore
boat. He heard what had happened and then, sitting down, thoughtfully
lighted his pipe.
"You must see what this points to," he remarked.
"It's no' difficult. Somebody has made the wasters drunk, and I ken what
sea stories he would start them telling. A _gran senor_, they said!"
"One of President Altiera's spies! But why do you think he gave them the
_anisado_ afterward?"
"He might have wanted them to make trouble, so we'd put them ashore and
he could get hold o' them again. Then it's possible it would have suited
him if they'd knifed you or me."
"There may be something in that. Anyhow, your going overboard after Pepe
ended the matter well. They're not ungrateful; it gives us a hold on
them."
"I see that noo, but I did no' stop to think before I jumped,"
Macallister modestly admitted. "It was what ye might call a stroke o'
natural genius. Then, ye see, I threw him in."
Grahame laughed.
"Well, we must keep our eyes open, and get away as soon as we can. I
expect to finish with Don Martin to-morrow."
* * * * *
On the following evening Cliffe was sitting with Evelyn in his private
room at the International when a mulatto boy brought him in a card.
"Senor Gomez!" he remarked. "The fellow has kept me hanging round three
days, and I'd made up my mind to sail with Grahame to-morrow, whether he
came or not."
"Who is Senor Gomez?" Evelyn asked.
"I understand his official title is _Secretario General_, and he's next
in power to the President of the country I'm trying to do business with.
My opinion is that they're both slippery rascals."
He broke off as the door opened and a dark-skinned gentleman came in.
Gomez bowed ceremoniously to Evelyn and Cliffe, and then waited with his
hat in his hand. He was dressed all in black except for his spotless
linen. He wore a number of valuable rings, and Evelyn noticed that his
nails were unusually curved and long. She shrank from the glance of bold
admiration he gave her, but resentment and half-instinctive dislike
conquered this feeling, and she returned his greeting politely when
Cliffe presented him. She thought no better of him when she withdrew
after some general talk.
"Now," Cliffe said when Evelyn had left them, "we'll get down to
business. I've been waiting three days for you, and am not sure the deal
is worth it."
Gomez spread out his hands with a deprecatory air.
"It was impossible to come sooner; affairs of state, you understand! May
I suggest that the concessions we offer you are valuable?"
"So it seems!" Cliffe rejoined bluntly. "The price you asked was high
enough, and now, when we have half fixed things, you want to raise your
terms."
Gomez looked pained. He was rather stout and greasy, but his dress and
manners were unexceptionable.
"Senor, that is a grief to us, but the affairs of my country necessitate
the change. We only ask for a little more money in advance. It is to the
advantage of all parties that you agree."
"I can't see how it is to my advantage to part with money I can make a
good use of," Cliffe replied.
"I must speak frankly, senor." Gomez's manner became confidential.
"These concessions have already cost you something, and there are
dissatisfied people who are anxious to rob the President of his power."
"I've heard that some of them are anxious to shoot him; but that's not
my business."
"With your pardon, senor, we must disagree. If the President loses
office before the papers are signed, the concessions go. I imagined you
understood this."
"I suppose I did understand something of the kind," Cliffe admitted.
"Still, if the revolutionists prove too strong for you, I'll lose any
additional money I may let you have."
Gomez smiled, a slow and rather cruel smile.
"If we can get the money there will be an end of the discontent; we know
how to deal with it. And now, with apologies, I must remark that while
we give you the first opportunity, there are others----"
"Ah!" said Cliffe sharply. "I'd thought this business wouldn't have much
attraction for my rivals. Whom am I up against?"
Gomez gave him a letter from a German syndicate, and Cliffe examined it
closely. He knew the principal, and recognized the signature.
"I see; they're bolder than I thought," he said. "If I don't come up to
the line, you'll make the deal with them."
"We should be forced. The political situation demands it."
"You mean you must have the money. Well, you have got a good deal of
mine already. What becomes of it if the thing falls through?"
"It was a gift," Gomez answered with an apologetic smile. "Your
generosity will be gratefully remembered."
Cliffe was silent for a few minutes. He had not been tricked, because he
had known that when one negotiates a transaction of that sort with a
Spanish-American country, a certain amount of money must first be spent
in clearing the ground, and this, going into the pockets of venal
officials, offers no direct return. Gomez and his master had, however,
been smarter than Cliffe thought, for, after exacting all they could
from him, they had opened negotiations with another party, and would
force him to come up to his rival's bid. They could do so, because if he
drew back he would lose the money he had already put in. He distrusted
them, but he thought he would be safe when he secured the concessions.
"I guess I'll have to meet you," he said, "but we'll get everything
fixed up now."
Half an hour afterward he lighted a fresh cigar, and put some papers
into his pocket. He was not altogether satisfied, and neither was Gomez,
but they had by mutual compromise arrived at a workable arrangement and
each had some respect for the other's astuteness.
"How will you get across to Jamaica?" Gomez asked.
"A little boat sails in the morning."
"The very small, lead-colored steamer? The senorita may find the
accommodation rude. Why not wait for a passenger boat?"
"It's fine weather, and the man who owns her is a friend of mine."
Gomez was puzzled. He was suspicious of the _Enchantress_, and had taken
trouble to find out something about her. It surprised him to learn that
her owner and Cliffe were friends.
"Then he is in Havana?"
"He's in this hotel. I noticed him sitting, half asleep, in the far
corner of the lounge just before you came in. Do you want to see him?"
"Oh, no," Gomez said in a careless tone, for he feared he had been
incautious. "I imagined you meant he was somebody you knew in America."
He made an excuse for leaving, but Cliffe, noticing his interest, was
not satisfied, and went out to the landing with him. Gomez, however, did
not go straight to the lounge. He was afraid of rousing Cliffe's
curiosity, and men of his stamp are seldom direct in their methods. It
seemed wiser to spend a while sauntering about the _patio_, where Cliffe
could see him. But Grahame in the meantime came up the stairs, and
Cliffe beckoned him.
"Do you know Senor Gomez?" he asked.
"No," said Grahame, immediately on his guard. "I've heard about him.
Clever politician, but a bit of a rogue, I believe."
Cliffe gave him a keen glance.
"I thought he was interested in you, but I may have been mistaken.
Anyway, I told him you were taking a _siesta_ in a corner of the
lounge."
Grahame smiled carelessly.
"Inquisitiveness becomes a habit with fellows like Gomez, and I dare say
it's needful. The cafes in these ports are full of political refugees
and intriguers."
Seeing Macallister in the hall below, Grahame went down to him and told
him what he had learned.
"Weel," said the engineer, dryly, "after that present o' _anisado_ to
the men, I'm thinking it would no' be desirable that ye should meet
Senor Gomez. For a' that, I would not have him disappointed, and I'll
daunder along to the lounge."
"It would be almost as bad if he saw you."
Macallister chuckled.
"He'll have hard work to recognize me afterward. Come away to the
hat-rack."
Grahame followed him, feeling puzzled but suspecting that his comrade
had some ingenious plan. Seeing nobody about, Macallister borrowed one
or two articles from the rack; but neither he nor Grahame noticed that
Miss Cliffe watched the proceedings with interest from a shadowy
passage.
Shortly afterward, Gomez entered the lounge and saw only one person
there, but this individual's appearance surprised him. As the light was
not good, he strolled toward the drowsy gentleman who lay negligently in
a big chair with a newspaper dangling from his hand. He wore a soft hat,
pulled down upon his forehead as if to shade his eyes, and a loose dark
cloak hung over his shoulder. He looked like a Cuban and although Gomez
noticed that his nails were short and broken, this might be accounted
for by his having something to do with sugar-making machinery.
"Perhaps you are not using the _diario_?" Gomez said.
The man did not look up, but held out the paper with a drowsy grunt.
Gomez was too clever to make a poor excuse for starting a conversation
with a man who obviously did not wish to be disturbed, and, taking the
paper, he moved away. After a few minutes he put it down and strolled
out of the room. When he had gone, Macallister left by another door,
and, replacing the things he had borrowed, rejoined Grahame in the
_patio_.
"It worked," he said, chuckling. "If Senor Gomez was on our track, he's
weel off it noo. But it's fortunate we sail the morn."
"He mustn't meet Don Martin," Grahame answered thoughtfully. "I'll go to
his room and warn him."
He found that Sarmiento was out, and none of the hotel servants knew
where he had gone. Grahame felt disturbed by this; but there was nothing
he could do.