Don Arturo and his party occupied a corner of the glass-roofed patio at the Metropole. For the most part, the tourists had gone when Las Palmas got hot, and the big hotel was nearly empty, but the cook and manager had given the party's ten o'clock breakfast careful thought. The company's cold stores were searched and the finest fruit in the island was ordered. Don Arturo's hospitality was famous at Las Palmas, London and Liverpool, and people talk about the feasts he gave. Pioneers of colonial industry, imperialist politicians, and leaders of commerce met at the table.

His guests at the Metropole were a high civil officer, Don Ramon, Austin and the Commandante de Marina. The coffee, and cigars carefully sealed in glass, were brought from the Caribbean coast in the company's steamers, and grown for the presidents of South American republics; the wine was made for the rulers of central Europe. As a rule Don Arturo's hospitality was extravagant. Perhaps he found it paid, for he himself was a plain business man and had known poverty. Yet, although a merchant, he was something of a prince; when famous shipbuilders and financiers crowded his waiting-room, he would stop to weigh a ship's cook's complaint. His humblest servant might appeal direct to him. He gave all audience, and his knowledge and justice were rather like Haroun a Raschid's.

Now he looked thoughtful and gave Austin a quiet glance. "To some extent, Wolf was your antagonist, but I don't see why you took a part in my purser's African adventure."

"At the beginning I don't know that I did take a part," Austin said with a smile. "Mr. Musgrave demanded my boat, and since I was not at home, my wife indulged him. When I sent off the other vessel, my object was mainly to get my money back."

"You imagine Musgrave's resolve to go was, so to speak, spontaneous?"

"I don't think he was prompted. Losing his men—in a sense, they were your men—weighed on him. All the same, if he brings them back, I imagine his going was lucky."

"It is lucky," the civil officer agreed. "The men are Spaniards and we cannot leave them in the hands of the Moors, but to rescue them might be difficult. Expeditions to Africa are not popular just now, and to send a gunboat would embarrass the government."

The Commandante nodded. "One must reckon on the opposition newspapers, and the Catalan radicals are very keen. Fresh trouble about Morocco would start an outcry. If one could send a small party to negotiate, it would be easier, but this might be dangerous; the Moors are disturbed and threatening. To land an armed force would mean fighting and the force must be strong. Besides, the Moors are cunning. It is possible they have retired across our border."

"I understand the French captain has not lodged a formal complaint," Don Arturo remarked.

"Captain Revillon is discreet," said the civil officer. "Had he seized your ship with the guns on board, it would have been another thing."

"Well, I suppose you are satisfied that I was cheated? You take it for granted that when my ship was chartered I did not know she would be used for smuggling?"

"We know you and we know your manager," the officer replied with a polite bow. "We doubted the man who chartered the ship, but until she came back and he vanished we did not see his plan."

"On the surface, his plan was obvious," Don Arturo remarked rather dryly. "For a time he carried on a risky business and then, when he saw the risks were greater than he thought, resolved to get a quantity of goods without proper payment. When he had got the goods and knew he must soon be found out, he intrigued with the French and tried to get some money from them. The ship was not his, and I imagine the last lot of guns were worthless. It looks plausible."

"Yet you think this was not all?" the Commandante suggested.

"I am a merchant, not a politician," Don Arturo rejoined. "I have got back my ship and am satisfied."

"You have some grounds for satisfaction. The ship carried guns for rebels and SeÑor Musgrave was your servant as well as Wolf's. I think this was a mistake, but Don Ramon has used much discretion, and we do not doubt your honesty."

"In the meantime, my purser and the Spanish sailors have not returned. What are you going to do about it?"

The Commandante lighted a cigar. "You must use patience. I think you see the situation is awkward, and Wolf is not a common cheat. Your manager knows much about our politics."

"I imagine Wolf's object was not altogether to earn money by smuggling and robbing the Moors," Don Ramon agreed meaningly.

The officer shrugged. "It is possible. One cannot be altogether frank, but there is some jealousy about the African coast, and a country we know feels she is shut out. Well, we will imagine a ship flying the Spanish flag is seized by a foreign gunboat, and French subjects are killed by the guns she landed. Perhaps Spanish subjects are killed; it is not important which. Then the ship is really British. Picture for yourself the complications! When a dispute begins, who knows where it will end?"

"In Spain, we are old-fashioned, and our justice is not British justice," said the Commandante, whose face got very stern. "One is given some discretion. If I could find SeÑor Wolf——"

"For a few days we must wait," the civil officer resumed. "Perhaps the English sobrecargo and our sailors will return. If they do not, we must think—— But we will talk about something else."

They talked for some time and then a messenger arrived and gave Don Ramon a note.

"It is from the office," he remarked. "The signals on the Isleta are going. A schooner and a ketch come from the East."

"Ah," said Austin with a smile, "I reckoned on something like this. I think the situation has arranged itself."

"You mean, the ketch is yours?" said Don Arturo.

"I expect she is the Cayman and the other is the Lucia. It looks as if Musgrave had got the men. Shall we cross the harbour and see the boats arrive?"

The others agreed, for all were keen to get the news, and soon afterwards they landed on the long mole, which, built of ponderous concrete blocks, runs for some distance out to sea. The morning was bright, the Trade-breeze fresh, and outside the shelter of the Isleta head big foam-tipped combers rolled south. Shining spray blew about the mole, and one felt the surges beat the massive blocks. The echoes of the measured shocks rolled among the coal wharfs across the harbour.

Some distance off two sails broke the dazzling sweep of blue. They slanted, plunged and almost vanished, but they got larger, and at times when they crossed a comber's top Austin saw a dark line of hull. He knew Cayman; no other boat about the islands carried a mizzen like hers. Moreover, he thought he knew Kit Musgrave, and since Kit was coming back, was persuaded he had brought the men. He admitted that Jacinta had used Kit rather shabbily, and he meant, if possible, to make some amends.

"What are you going to do about Musgrave?" he asked Don Arturo.

"If he is willing, he can stop with us. Are you interested in the young fellow?"

"Musgrave is rather a friend of ours and has some useful qualities," Austin replied. "For example, he undertook a very awkward job because he felt he ought. Then it's important that he has carried out the job. One trusts a man like that and my business is growing——"

Austin knew when to stop. Since he had indicated that he knew Kit's value and was willing to engage him, he had perhaps gone far enough. Don Arturo smiled.

"If Musgrave has straightened out the tangle that bothers our Spanish friends, he deserves a reward. However, I must think about it and study the fellow. Sometimes to push on a young man fast is not an advantage."

Austin agreed, and when they reached the end of the mole noted that Betty occupied the last large block. The spray tossed about her, and her dress streamed in the wind. She did not see Austin; her eyes were fixed upon the boats. Austin was not surprised that she was there. When vessels approached the port, the look-out on the Isleta signalled to the town, and clerks at the shipping office knew the flags. Advancing carefully, he touched Betty's arm.

"The smaller boat is Cayman. I expect Kit's on board."

She turned and Austin saw her look was strained. "You don't know yet! Unless the men are with him, Kit is not on board."

"I know Jefferson," said Austin, smiling. "He went to look for Kit, and the larger boat's the Lucia. You see what this implies? I'm using your argument."

In the meantime, a crowd had begun to gather. Men from the fishing vessels and women with black clothes and black shawls pushed towards the end of the mole. Some talked and gesticulated; some were quiet, and their dark faces were inscrutable like the Moors. All kept back a little from Don Arturo's party, and the Commandante studied them with languid interest.

"If their friends do not arrive, I think we shall have a demonstration," he remarked to the civil officer. "We know Don Ramon is discreet, and I gave the Diario a useful hint, but it looks as if the people knew the story we meant to keep dark."

"At Las Palmas nothing is long kept dark," Don Ramon replied. "I have used some caution, but one cannot stop Don Erminio talking. It is frankly impossible!"

The officer shrugged. He was a Peninsular from Madrid. "In a few minutes, perhaps, your islanders will curse the government and throw stones at us. But a demonstration is not important, and at Barcelona they use bombs and knives——"

He stopped, for the vessels were not far from the mole. Lucia led. Her high white canvas was sharply inclined and her hull listed until the foam leaped about her rail. One saw her keen bows swing and cleave the frothy seas. She was beautiful and strangely swift, for there are no finer schooners than the Canary coasting fleet. Three or four small figures began to run about her deck, the big gaff-topsail tilted, fluttered and came down; a jib was lowered and the ketch behind her forged ahead. Austin smiled and left the others, for he was now altogether satisfied Jefferson was on board. Jake was a chivalrous fellow.

"All has gone well," he said to Betty.

"But you cannot see the people yet. It's too far."

"We saw Lucia's topsail hauled down," Austin rejoined.

Betty's eyes sparkled. "You mean, they want to let Kit make the harbour first? Well, that's like Mr. Jefferson!"

"Jefferson's a good sort," Austin agreed. "Anyhow, I rather think Kit deserves his triumph."

Cayman did not shorten sail. Her topmast bent to leeward, her outer jib was wet, and when she plunged, her straining bowsprit sank into the sea ahead. Her deck was sharply slanted; one saw her copper glimmer green, and now and then a fathom of the metal swung out of the foam. A tattered red and yellow flag, hard like a board, blew from her mizzen gaff; she leaped across the white seas as if her patron felt he carried important news.

The news was important. On the mole, people who did not know Kit and Jefferson waited with keen suspense. They could not yet see the faces of the crew and tried to count the figures, but the men moved about. Some got the anchor ready and some threw down coils of rope. Then, listing to a gust that buried her lee rail, Cayman drove past the end of the mole and the crowd began to shout."Ambos! Los veo! They have brought them both!"

Betty thrilled. Her heart beat and her eyes were wet. She was moved by keen emotion, and for a moment she had seen Kit. Then Cayman went about and he was hidden by the swinging canvas. She came up to the wind again. Jibs and topsail ran down, she stopped, and the anchor splashed. People shouted and pushed towards the landing steps.

Cayman's boat was lowered. Betty saw Kit, Macallister and some others jump on board. The boat pulled for the steps and the crowd surged along the edge of the mole. When the boat stopped, hats were thrown up, and Betty knew in Spain one throws one's hat to the maestro after a great exploit in the bull-ring. Hoarse shouts pierced the rumble of the sea.

"Viva el Yngles! Buen' muchacho! Viva el SeÑor Jefferson."