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.”