THE CUBAN SPY
Gore left Banner's Post abruptly, to Evelyn's relief, and on the morning
after his departure she and Cliffe stood on the steps before the other
guests had come down to breakfast. It had rained all night, the mist
hung low about Long Mountain's side, and a fresh wind woke waves of
sound from the rustling pines. A creel hung round Cliffe's shoulders,
and he contemplated the dripping woods with a smile of half-apologetic
satisfaction.
"The fishing should be great to-day!" he exclaimed. "But I feel that I'm
playing truant. I ought to be back at the office. Guess the trout I
catch will cost me high; but the temptation is pretty strong when I see
the water rise."
"I'm glad you have been rash for once," Evelyn replied. "Besides, you
have an office full of people who can look after things for you."
Cliffe shook his head.
"That's the excuse I tried to make, but it won't quite work. If you want
to be a successful operator, you have to sit tight with your finger on
the pulse of the market. A beat or two more or less makes a big
difference. Finance soon gets feverish."
"And you are one of the doctors who send its temperature up or down."
"No; that's a wrong idea. Once on a time the big men did something of
the kind, but now the dollar's a world-force that's grown too strong for
them. We gave it a power we can't control; it drives us into combines
and mergers we didn't plan. It's a blind force that rolls along
undirected, over our bodies if we get in its way. All we can do is to
try to guess its drift. The successful man is the one who does so
first."
"I wonder whether you're to be pitied or envied. The work must be
absorbing, and it's simple, in a way."
"Simple!" Cliffe exclaimed.
"Well, you have an object; your aims are definite and you know, more or
less, how to carry them out. We others, who have no purpose in life,
spend our time in amusements that leave us dissatisfied. When we stop to
think, we feel that we might do something better, but we don't know what
it is. The outlook is blank."
Cliffe gave her a sharp glance. Evelyn had changed in the last few
months, and she had been strangely quiet since her refusal of Gore.
Seeing his interest, she laughed.
"I'm not asking for sympathy; and I mustn't keep you from the trout. Go
and catch as many as you can. It must be nice to feel that you have only
to pick up a fishing-rod and be young again."
She walked to the gate with him, but Cliffe stopped when they reached
it, for a big automobile was lurching down the uneven road. The mud
splashed about the car indicated distance traveled at furious speed, but
it slowed at the bend near the gate, and Cliffe sighed as he recognized
Robinson.
"I guess this stops my fishing," he said in a resigned tone. Dropping
his rod and creel, he jumped on to the footboard as the driver
cautiously took the gate, and Evelyn smiled as the car rolled up the
drive. She was sorry that her father had lost his favorite sport, but
his prompt surrender of it was characteristic. He was first of all a man
of business.
"Wired for an auto' to meet me when I left the train," Robinson told
him. "It was raining pretty hard, and they don't do much grading on
these mountain roads, but I made the fellow rush her along as fast as he
could." He took some letters from his wallet. "Read these and think them
over while I get breakfast."
Half an hour afterward they sat in a corner of the veranda, where Mrs.
Willans' guests left them alone. These quiet, intent men of affairs
obviously did not belong to their world.
"Well?" Robinson said.
"One of two things has got to be done; there's no middle course."
Robinson nodded.
"That's true. Middle courses generally lead to nothing."
"Very well. We can cut out our deal with President Altiera, lose the
money we have spent, and let the concessions go; or we can pay up again,
hang on, and put the matter through."
"What's your opinion? The fellow asks for more."
"Do you mean to be guided by me?"
"Yes," Robinson said. "Take which you think is the right line; I'll
stand in."
"It's pretty hard to see. We'll make good if we get the concessions;
but the President's up against a bigger thing than he thought. It's
going to cost him and us some money to head off the revolutionists, but
if we don't drop out right now, we've got to brace up and put it over.
Well, as I'm fixed, it's a big risk. My money's making good interest,
and if I go on, I've got to sell out stock I meant to hold. A set-back
would be a serious thing for me. I want a few minutes to think it over."
Robinson had confidence in Cliffe's integrity and judgment.
"An hour, if you like," he said; "then we'll have to pull out, whatever
you decide."
For a long while Cliffe sat silent with knitted brows. His wife made
claims upon his means that he sometimes found it hard to satisfy; and it
was his ambition that his daughter should be rich. After carefully
pondering the letters, he saw that he might be involved in a conflict
with forces whose strength he could not estimate, and defeat would cost
him the fruit of several years' labor. Yet the prize to be won was
tempting, and he could take a risk. Besides, they already had put a good
deal of money into it.
"Well," he said at last, "I've made up my mind."
"To hold on, I guess," Robinson suggested with a smile.
"That's so," Cliffe answered in a quiet voice. "What's more, I'm going
out to look into things myself. We can talk it over on the way to town.
I'll be ready as soon as I've told my wife."
Robinson took out his watch.
"Give you half an hour if we're to catch the train," he said.
Cliffe met Evelyn in the broad hall, and told her that he would have to
go south at once.
"Take me with you, won't you?" she begged. "I want to get away from
Banner's Post."
Cliffe hesitated a moment.
"Why, yes," he then said; "I see no reason why you shouldn't
go--particularly as your mother means to stay with Margaret Willans."
When, a half hour later, the car started from the bottom of the steps
and Mrs. Cliffe turned away with a wave of her hand, Evelyn stood in the
drive, asking herself bluntly why she wished to accompany her father. A
longing for change had something to do with it; she was getting tired of
an aimless and, in a sense, uneventful life, for it was true that
occupations that had once been full of pleasurable excitement had begun
to pall. But this was not her only object. Grahame was somewhere on the
coast she meant to visit, and she might meet him. Evelyn admitted with a
blush that she would like to do so.
The next morning a telegram arrived from Cliffe, directing her to join
him in town, and ten days later she stood, at evening, on a balcony of
the Hotel International, in Havana. It was getting dark, but a few lamps
were lighted in the _patio_, and the moonlight touched one white wall.
The air was hot and heavy, and filled with exotic smells, and the sound
of alien voices gave Evelyn the sense of change and contrast she had
sought. Yet she knew that, so far, the trip had been a failure. It had
not banished her restlessness; Havana was as stale as New York. She
remembered with regret how different it had been on her first visit.
Grahame and his companion had been with her then, and she knew that she
missed them.
She turned as a man came out on the balcony that ran along the end of
the house. He did not look like a Cuban, and she started when the
moonlight fell upon him, for she saw that it was Grahame. He was making
for the stairs at the corner where the two balconies joined and did not
notice her. Evelyn realized that, as she wore a white dress, her figure
would be indistinct against the wall, and, if she did not move in the
next few moments, he would go down the stairs and disappear among the
people in the _patio_. If he had meant to enter the hotel, he would not
have come that way.
She felt that if she let him go they might not meet again. After all,
this might be wiser. Yet her heart beat fast, and she thrilled with a
strange excitement as she stood irresolute, knowing that the choice she
had to make would be momentous.
Grahame reached the top of the stairs without turning, and was going
down when she leaned over the balustrade. She did not consciously decide
upon the action; it was as if something had driven her into making it.
"Mr. Grahame!" she called softly.
He looked up with the moonlight on his face and she saw the gleam she
had expected in his eyes. Then he came swiftly toward her, and her
indecision vanished when she gave him her hand.
"This is a remarkably pleasant surprise, but I didn't see you until you
spoke," he said. "Have you just come out of one of the rooms?"
"No; I've been here some time. I saw you as soon as you appeared on the
balcony."
Grahame gave her a quick look, and she knew he was wondering why she had
waited until the last moment. He was shrewd enough to see that the delay
had some significance, but this did not matter.
"Well," he said, "I'm glad you didn't let me pass, because I was going
out into the street, and it's doubtful if I'd have come back."
"Yes," said Evelyn; "I seemed to know that."
He was silent for a moment, but his expression was intent and a faint
glow of color showed in his brown face. Evelyn let him make what he
liked of her admission. She had not been influenced by coquetry, but by
a feeling that it was a time for candor.
"I was thinking about an interview I'd just finished--that is why I
didn't look round," he explained. "I came from Matanzas this afternoon."
"Then the _Enchantress_ isn't here?"
"No; she's at Matanzas, but I can't get back to-night. Will you be here
long?"
"A day or two, waiting for a boat. I wonder whether you would stay and
dine with us this evening?" Then a thought struck Evelyn, and she added:
"That is, if it isn't undesirable for you to be seen here."
She had not expected him to hesitate and was prepared for his reckless
twinkle.
"Of course I'll stay! But did you mean--if it was not unsafe?"
"I suppose I did," she admitted with a smile. "You know I helped you in
a mysterious plot the last time I was here. Now it would be selfish of
me to ask you to wait if you think you'd better not."
"There's no risk worth counting, and I'd take it if there was. When you
have a temperament like mine it's hard to deny yourself a pleasure."
"I shouldn't have thought you self-indulgent," Evelyn smiled.
"Well," he said, "one's fortitude has its limits. I suppose it depends
upon the strength of the temptation."
He had answered in a light vein, and Evelyn followed his lead.
"It's a relief to know you mean to stay. My father will be pleased to
see you; but he may not have finished his business when dinner is ready,
and I rather shrink from going down alone."
They talked about matters of no importance for a time, and then went
through the _patio_ to the dining-room. It was not full, and Evelyn
imagined that Grahame was glad there were several unoccupied chairs
between them and the rest of the company. She noticed, moreover, that
when people came in he glanced up quietly, as if he did not want her to
notice his action, and she had a guilty feeling that she had made him
take a risk that was greater than he would own. Yet she was glad that he
had taken it.
"Where are you going when you leave Havana?" he asked presently.
"To Valverde, and afterward perhaps to Rio Frio."
Grahame looked thoughtful, and Evelyn quietly studied him. Her training
had made her quick at guessing what lay behind the reserve of people
who were not quite frank with her, and she saw that he was disturbed.
"Why should I not go there?" she asked.
"I don't know any good reason if your father's willing to take you, but
the country's in a rather unsettled state just now." Grahame paused for
a moment and added earnestly: "Don't trust Gomez."
"Do you think we shall meet him?"
"Yes," he said with a dry smile; "I think it very likely."
"Then you must know something about my father's business, and what is
going on in the country."
"I believe I know more about the country than your father does. In fact,
I'd like to warn him against Gomez, only that I imagine he's a good
judge of character and already knows his man."
Grahame wrote an address on a leaf of a small notebook and, tearing it
out, put it on her plate.
"I'm going to ask a favor. If you should meet with any difficulty at Rio
Frio, will you send me a message through the man whose name I've written
down? I might, perhaps, be of some use."
"Do you expect us to get into any difficulty?"
"No; but one can't tell--trouble might arise."
"And, if it did, you could help us?"
"Well," he said gravely, "I'd do my best."
Evelyn's eyes sparkled.
"I know you could be trusted! But all this mystery gives the trip an
extra interest. Then, you have made it obvious that the _Enchantress_
will be on the coast."
"May I hope that this adds to your satisfaction?" Grahame said, smiling.
"Now you're frivolous, and I was pleasantly excited! However, I'll
promise that if anything very alarming seems to threaten us I'll send
you word."
Grahame looked up. An elderly Cuban gentleman, three or four places off,
had once or twice glanced at them carelessly and then resumed his
conversation with a lady beside him, but Grahame noticed that he stopped
when Evelyn spoke.
"Am I to tell my father what I have promised?" she asked.
"You must use your own judgment about that."
Evelyn understood him. He would not ask her to keep a secret from her
father, and she liked his delicacy; but he looked thoughtful. She did
not know that the Cuban gentleman engaged his attention.
"Well," she said, "I'll tell him if it seems necessary; that is, if
there's any reason for sending you word. Otherwise, of course, there
would be no need to mention it."
"No," he agreed with a smile that seemed to draw them closer because it
hinted at mutual understanding.
"One doesn't feel forced to explain things to you," Evelyn said
impulsively.
"That's an advantage. Explanations are a nuisance, and sometimes
dangerous when they're important. I find them easiest when they don't
matter."
Cliffe came in and greeted Grahame cordially; and Grahame, glancing down
the table without turning his head, saw the Cuban studying them.
Something in the man's manner suggested that Cliffe's friendliness had
surprised him. He made a few hasty pencil marks on the back of an old
letter and then, looking up suddenly, caught Grahame watching him
curiously. The Cuban pushed back his chair and left the room, although
Grahame suspected that his dinner was not more than half finished.
Evelyn, surprising the alert look on Grahame's face, was now more
disturbed than ever on his account. Evidently there was danger for him
here.
Her fears would have been increased had she known the few words the spy
wrote on his envelope.