The glare of the big arc-lights flooded the broad, white plaza when Dick crossed it on his way to the Hotel Magellan. The inhabitants of Santa Brigida had finished their evening meal and, as was their custom, were taking the air and listening to the military band. They were of many shades of color and different styles of dress, for dark-skinned peons in plain white cotton, chattering negroes, and grave, blue-clad Chinamen mingled with the citizens who claimed to spring from European stock. These, however, for the most part, were by no means white, and though some derived their sallow skin from Andalusian and Catalan ancestors, others showed traces of Carib origin.

The men were marked by Southern grace; the younger women had a dark, languorous beauty, and although their dress was, as a rule, an out of date copy of Parisian modes, their color taste was good, and the creamy white and soft yellow became them well. A number of the men wore white duck, with black or red sashes and Panama hats, but some had Spanish cloaks and Mexican sombreros.

Flat-topped houses, colored white and pink and lemon, with almost unbroken fronts, ran round the square. A few had green lattices and handsome iron gates to the arched entrances that ran like a tunnel through the house, but many showed no opening except a narrow slit of barred window. Santa Brigida was old, and the part near the plaza had been built four hundred years ago.

Dick glanced carelessly at the crowd as he crossed the square. He liked the music, and there was something interesting and exotic in the play of moving color, but his mind was on his work and he wondered whether he would find a man he wanted at the hotel. One could enter it by a Moorish arch that harmonized with the Eastern style of its front; but this had been added, and he went in by the older tunnel and across the patio to the open-fronted American bar that occupied a space between the balcony pillars.

He did not find his man, and after ordering some wine, lighted a cigarette and looked about while he waited to see if the fellow would come in. One or two steamship officers occupied a table close by, a Frenchman was talking excitedly to a handsome Spanish half-breed, and a fat, red-faced German with spectacles sat opposite a big glass of pale-colored beer. Dick was not interested in these, but his glance grew keener as it rested on a Spaniard, who had a contract at the irrigation works, sitting with one of Fuller’s storekeepers at the other end of the room. Though there was no reason the Spaniard should not meet the man in town, Dick wondered what they were talking about, particularly since they had chosen a table away from everybody else.

The man he wanted did not come, and by and by he determined to look for him in the hotel. He went up an outside staircase from the patio, round which the building ran, and had reached a balcony when he met Ida Fuller coming down. She stopped with a smile.

“I am rather glad to see you,” she said. “My father, who went on board the American boat, has not come back as he promised, and the French lady he left me with has gone.”

“I’m going off to a cargo vessel to ask when they’ll land our cement, and we might find out what is keeping Mr. Fuller, if you don’t mind walking to the mole.”

They left the hotel and shortly afterwards reached the mole, which sheltered the shallow harbor where the cargo lighters were unloaded. The long, smooth swell broke in flashes of green and gold phosphorescence against the concrete wall, and the moon threw a broad, glittering track across the sea. There was a rattle of cranes and winches and a noisy tug was towing a row of barges towards the land. The measured thud of her engines broke through the splash of water flung off the lighters’ bows as they lurched across the swell, and somebody on board was singing a Spanish song. Farther out, a mailboat’s gently swaying hull blazed with electric light, and astern of her the reflection of a tramp steamer’s cargo lamp quivered upon the sea. By and by, Dick, who ascertained that Fuller had not landed, hailed a steam launch, which came panting towards some steps.

“I can put you on board the American boat, and bring you back if Mr. Fuller isn’t there,” he said, and when Ida agreed, helped her into the launch.

Then he took the helm while the fireman started the engine, and the craft went noisily down the harbor. As they passed the end of the mole, Dick changed his course, and the white town rose clear to view in the moonlight behind the sparkling fringe of surf. The flat-topped houses rose in tiers up a gentle slope, interspersed with feathery tufts of green and draped here and there with masses of creepers. Narrow gaps of shadow opened between them, and the slender square towers of the cathedral dominated all, but in places a steep, red roof struck a picturesque but foreign note.

“Santa Brigida has a romantic look at night,” Dick remarked. “Somehow it reminds me of pictures of the East.”

“That is not very strange,” Ida answered with a smile. “The flat roof and straight, unbroken wall is the oldest type of architecture. Man naturally adopted it when he gave up the tent and began to build.”

“Yes,” said Dick. “Two uprights and a beam across! You couldn’t get anything much simpler. But how did it come here?”

“The Arabs found it in Palestine and took it to Northern Africa as the Moslem conquest spread. The cube, however, isn’t beautiful, and the Moors elaborated it, as the Greeks had done, but in a different way. The latter broke the square from the cornices and pillars; the Moors with the Saracenic arch, minarets, and fretted stone, and then forced their model upon Spain. Still the primitive type survives longest and the Spaniards brought that to the New World.”

“No doubt, it’s the explanation. But the high, red roofs yonder aren’t Moorish. The flat top would suit the dry East, but these indicate a country where they need a pitch that will shed the rain and snow. In fact one would imagine that the original model came from Germany.”

“It really did. Spain was overrun by the Visigoths, who were Teutons.”

“Well,” said Dick, “this is interesting. I’m not an architect, but construction’s my business, as well as my hobby.”

“Then don’t you think you are a fortunate man?”

“In a sense, perhaps,” Dick answered. “Still, that’s no reason you should be bored for my entertainment.” He paused and resumed: “I’m grateful because you mean to be kind, as you were the night I met you first at the tent. Although you had heard my story, I saw you wanted to make me feel I was being given a fresh start.”

Ida studied him with a thoughtful calm that he found embarrassing. “Perhaps I did, but suppose we talk about something else.”

“Very well. If it’s not bad form, I wasn’t in the least astonished by your lecture about the roofs, because one finds your people have a breadth of knowledge that’s remarkable. I once showed an old abbey near our place at home to some American tourists, and soon saw they knew more about its history than I did. There was a girl of seventeen who corrected me once or twice, and when I went to the library I found that she was right. The curious thing is that you’re, so to speak, rather parochial with it all. One of my American employers treated me pretty well until he had to make some changes in his business. Took me to his house now and then, and I found his wife and daughters knew the old French and Italian cities. Yet they thought them far behind Marlin Bluff, which is really a horribly ugly place.”

“I know it,” said Ida, laughing. “Still, the physical attractiveness of a town isn’t it’s only charm. Besides, are you sure you don’t mean patriotic when you say parochial? You ought to sympathize with the former feeling.”

“I don’t know. Patriotism is difficult when your country has no use for you.”

Ida did not reply, and it was a few minutes later when she said: “I’m glad I met you to-night, because we go home soon and there’s a favor I want to ask. My brother is coming out to take a post on the irrigation work and I want you to look after him.”

“But he mayn’t like being looked after, and it’s very possible he knows more about the work than I do. I’ve only had a military training.”

“Jake has had no training at all, and is three or four years younger than I think you are.”

“Then, of course, I’ll be glad to teach him all I can.”

“That isn’t exactly what I mean, although we want him to learn as much as possible about engineering.”

“I don’t see what else I could teach him.”

Ida smiled. “Then I must explain. Jake is rash and fond of excitement and gay society. He makes friends easily and trusts those he likes, but this has some drawbacks because his confidence is often misplaced. Now I don’t think you would find it difficult to gain some influence over him.”

“And what would you expect me to do afterwards?”

“You might begin by trying to make him see how interesting his new occupation is.”

“That might be harder than you think,” Dick replied. “Molding concrete and digging irrigation ditches have a fascination for me, but I dare say it’s an unusual taste. Your brother mightn’t like weighing cement in the hot mixing sheds or dragging a measuring chain about in the sun.”

“It’s very possible,” Ida agreed with a hint of dryness. “I want you to show him what it means; make him feel the sense of power over material. Jake’s rather boyish, and a boy loves to fire a gun because something startling happens in obedience to his will when he pulls the trigger. Isn’t it much the same when one gives the orders that shatter massive rocks and move ponderous stones? However, that’s not all. I want you to keep him at the dam and prevent his making undesirable friends.”

“Though it’s not the thing I’m cut out for, I’ll try,” said Dick, with some hesitation. “I’m surprised that you should put your brother in my charge, after what you know about me.”

“You were unfortunate, negligent, perhaps, for once.”

“The trouble is that my friends and relations seemed to think me dishonest. At least, they believed that my getting into disgrace was quite as bad.”

“I don’t,” said Ida calmly. “What I ask will need some tact, but if you’ll promise to look after Jake, I shall feel satisfied.”

Dick was silent for the next few moments, watching the phosphorescent foam stream back from the launch’s bows. Then he said: “Thank you, Miss Fuller. In a way, it’s embarrassing to feel you trust me; but I’ll do what I can to deserve it.”

Three or four minutes afterwards the launch steamed round the liner’s stern and ran into the gloom beneath her tall side. There was a blaze of light above that fell upon the farthest off of the row of boats, past which the launch ran with her engine stopped, and the dark water broke into a fiery sparkle as the swell lapped the steamer’s plates. A man came down the ladder when the launch jarred against its foot, and Ida, finding that Fuller was still on board, went up while Dick steamed across to the cargo-boat that lay with winches hammering not far off. After talking to her mate, he returned to the harbor, and when he landed, lighted a cigarette and studied some alterations that were being made at the landward end of the mole. He had noticed the work as he passed with Ida, but was now able to examine it. A number of concrete blocks and cement bags were lying about.

Beckoning a peon who seemed to be the watchman, Dick gave him a cigarette and asked: “How far are they going to re-face the mole?”

“As far as the post yonder, seÑor.”

It was obvious that a large quantity of cement would be required and Dick resumed: “Who is doing the work?”

“Don Ramon Oliva.”

Dick hid his interest. Ramon Oliva was the man he had seen talking to Fuller’s storekeeper at the hotel.

“Where does one buy cement in this town?”

“SeÑor Vaz, the merchant, sells it now and then.”

Dick let the peon go, and leaving the mole, found Vaz in a cafÉ. Sitting down at his table he asked: “Do you keep cement in your warehouse?”

“Sometimes,” said the other; “when work it is required for is going on. But I sold the last I had two or three months ago.”

“I believe we run short now and then, but we have a big lot being landed now. As our sheds will be pretty full, I could let you have a quantity if you like.”

“Thanks, but no,” said the merchant. “I do not think anybody would buy it from me for some time, and it is bad to keep when one’s store is damp.”

Dick, who drank a glass of wine with him, went away in a thoughtful mood. He wondered where Don Ramon got his cement, and meant to find out, though he saw that caution would be needed. He owed much to Fuller and had made his master’s business his. Now it looked as if Fuller were being robbed and although he had, no doubt, cunning rogues to deal with, Dick determined that the thing must be stopped. When he returned to the dam he went to Bethune’s hut and found him lying in his hammock.

“Whose duty is it to check the storekeeper’s lists?” he asked. “I suppose you strike a balance between the goods delivered him and the stuff he hands out for use on the works.”

“It’s done, of course,” said Bethune. “I haven’t examined the books myself; FranÇois, the Creole clerk, is responsible. However, one would imagine you had duties enough without taking up another, but if you mean to do so, you had better begin soon. Your energy won’t stand this climate long.”

“I don’t know what I may do yet,” Dick replied. “Still, it struck me that our stores might be sold in the town.”

“I expect they are, to some extent,” Bethune carelessly agreed. “That kind of thing is hard to stop anywhere, and these folks are very smart at petty pilfering. Anyway, you might get yourself into trouble by interfering and any small theft you stopped probably wouldn’t pay for the time you’d have to spend on the job. Leave it alone, and take matters as you find them, is my advice.”

Dick talked about something else, but when he went back to his shack he knew what he meant to do.