Long Odds Part 23

Desmond opened the door of the little room beneath the bridge. A lamp burned in it, and he flung a shade across the port before he drew the girl in, and then closing the door, leaned with his back against it.

"I do not think we shall be disturbed," he said.

Benicia stood still a moment looking at him. It was in the case of a young woman from The Peninsula a very unusual thing she had done, but there was inconsequent courage in her, and a certain quiet imperiousness in her manner.

"You have coal and water on board?" she said.

"I have," said Desmond. "I have also clearance papers for British Nigeria, but we haven't steam up. You see, I expected to stay here at least a day or two."

"Then you must raise it. You must sail for the Bahia Santiago before to-morrow."

"You have word of Ormsgill?" and Desmond became suddenly intent. "He is a man who is never late, but on this occasion he is a week or two before his time. Well, I dare say we can sail to-morrow. You will tell me what you know?"

He leaned against the door with a quiet thoughtful face while she did so, and then the Celtic temperament revealed itself in the flash in his eyes.

"It will evidently be a tight fit, but we'll get him if I have to arm every man on board and bring him off," he said. "That there may be complications afterwards doesn't in the least matter."

"Ah," said Benicia, "you are one who would do a good deal for a friend."

Desmond looked at her with a little wry smile. "Miss Figuera," he said slowly, "I think I would gladly do a very great deal for you."

A just perceptible flicker of color crept into the girl's face. "But what you are about to do now is for your friend Ormsgill."

"Yes," said Desmond, still with the curious little smile. "In one way, at least, I suppose it is."

Benicia turned and faced him, with the color growing plainer in her cheeks, and for a moment there was hot anger in her, for she knew what he meant. Then the fierce resentment vanished suddenly, as she once more met his eyes. There was something that suggested a deep regret in them, and his manner was wholly deferential.

"I only wish you to understand that if I fail it will not be because I have not done all I can," he said. "You see, I would, at least, like to keep your good opinion, and in spite of every effort one can't always be successful. Still, if it is possible, I will bring Ormsgill safely off. As you say, he is my friend."

There was silence for, perhaps, half a minute, and during it each knew what the other was thinking. Then Benicia made this clear.

"Ah," she said, "you are a very generous man." She stopped a moment, and there was a faint tremble in her voice when she turned to him again. "You have come from Las Palmas?"

"I have," said Desmond. "I saw Miss Ratcliffe there. I think I may venture to tell you that Ormsgill will never marry her."

Benicia's face flamed, but the color died out of it again, and she looked at him quietly. "To no one else could I have forgiven that.

Still, one can forgive everything to one who has your courage--and devotion."

Desmond made a little gesture. "Well," he said simply, "we sail before to-morrow, and I will do what I can. There is this in my favor--your friends probably don't know where Ormsgill is heading for."

Then the girl started suddenly with consternation in her eyes, for there was a tapping at the door, but Desmond's hand fell on her shoulder and she felt that he would do what was most advisable. Next moment he leaned forward and turned the lamp out before he threw the door open.

"Well," he said, "what do you want? I am, as you see, just coming out."

There was moonlight outside, though the awnings dimmed it, and just there the bridge flung a shadow on the deck, and he recognized with the first glance that it was one of his guests who had tapped upon the door which he flung carelessly to behind him.

"One wondered where you had gone to," said the man.

Desmond laughed, and slipping his hand beneath the inquirer's arm strolled aft with him, but he sighed with relief when, as they joined the others on the opposite side of the deck-house, he saw Benicia already sitting there. He did not know how she had contrived it, until he remembered that to slip through the companion would shorten the distance. It was, however, half an hour later when she found an opportunity of standing beside him for a moment or two.

"It seems that one is watched," she said. "You must be careful."

Desmond was on the whole not sorry when his guests took themselves away, and he laughed as he stood at the gangway shaking hands with them.

"I am afraid I shall not be ash.o.r.e to-morrow," he said. "It is very likely that we shall be out at sea by then."

One or two of them expressed their regret, and the boat slid away, while some little time afterwards Dom Clemente glanced at his daughter as they stood on the outer stairway of his house. Beneath them they could see the _Palestrina_ dotted here and there with blinking lights, and a dingy smear of smoke was steaming from her funnel.

"So he is going away again to-morrow," he said reflectively. "Well, I suppose one is always permitted to change his mind."

Benicia made no answer, and Dom Clemente stood still, glancing towards the steamer with a somewhat curious expression when she went into the house. Then he made a little abrupt gesture, as of one who resigns himself, before he turned away and went in after her.

"In the meanwhile I look on," he said.

CHAPTER XIX

THE DELAYED MESSAGE

It was a few days after the _Palestrina_ had sailed when Dom Clemente once more sat behind the pillars in a basket chair looking thoughtfully at his unlighted cigar. He could when it appeared advisable move energetically and to some effect, but he was not fond of action, or conversation, for its own sake, and he seldom told anybody else what was in his mind. There are men who apparently find a pleasure in doing so, and in their case the task is as a rule a particularly easy one, but Dom Clemente had no sympathy with them.

When the time was ripe he acted on his opinions, but otherwise he was placid, tolerantly courteous, and inscrutable. Still, there were men concerned in the government of his country who had confidence in him.

It happened that a little cargo steamer on her way north had crept in that morning with engines broken down, and her British skipper, who had certain favors to ask, had been sent to Dom Clemente. He had gone away contented a few minutes earlier, but he had incidentally supplied Dom Clemente with a piece of information which, although he was not altogether astonished at it, had made him thoughtful. At last he rose, and laying down his cigar strolled forward leisurely to where, looking down between the pillars, he could see his daughter in the patio below. She did not see him, for she was sitting with a book turned back upwards upon her knee and apparently gazing straight before her at a trellis draped with flowers. He would have greatly liked to know what she was thinking, but since he recognized that this was one of the wishes that must remain ungratified he turned away again with a little gesture which was chiefly expressive of resignation. He could deal with men, but he had already found that the charge of a motherless daughter was something of a responsibility.

Then he called a negro whom he dispatched with a message, and leaned against one of the pillars until a man in uniform with a big sword belted to him came in.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to the table. "Write what I tell you."

The man did as he was bidden, and Dom Clemente nodded when he was shown the letter. "You will take it across to the Lieutenant Frequillo and tell him to send a few men direct to the Bahia if he considers it advisable," he said. "Then you will see the messenger Pacheco dispatched with it. The matter, as you will understand, is urgent. As you go down say that I should like a word with the Senorita Benicia if she is at liberty."

His companion went out with the letter of instructions which was directed to the officer in command of the handful of dusky soldiers who had been sent up to inquire for news of Ormsgill, and Dom Clemente who sat down again waited until his daughter came in. She stood looking at him expectantly until he turned and pointed to the little British steamer.

"The captain of that vessel has just been in," he said. "He told me with some resentment that a white steam yacht went by him two days ago, and took no notice of his signals. The captain, it seems, was very anxious to be towed in here."

"I do not think that concerns me," said Benicia.

"The yacht," said Dom Clemente, "had a single funnel, a long deck-house, and two masts, which, of course, is not unusual, but it is most unlikely that there are two yachts of that description anywhere near this coast. The point is that she was steaming very fast, and heading south, which is certainly not the way to Nigeria."

Benicia appeared to straighten herself a trifle, but save for the little movement she was very quiet, and she looked at her father with eyes that were almost as inscrutable as his own. Still, she recognized that she was at a disadvantage, since it was evident that the course he meant to take was clear to him, and she was in a state of anxious uncertainty.

"It is," he continued tranquilly, "a little astonis.h.i.+ng how these Englishmen recognize the natural facilities of a country. There is down the coast a little bay which I have long had my eyes upon. Some day, perhaps, we will build a deep water pier there and make a railway across the littoral. No other place has so many advantages. It offers, among others, a natural road to the interior."

The girl could have faced a direct question better than this preamble, which Dom Clemente no doubt guessed.

"The Senor Desmond is not a commercialist," she said. "Why should this interest him?"

"Well," said Dom Clemente, "one could fancy that it does, for he is certainly going there." He stopped for a moment, and then his tone was sharp and incisive. "The question is, who sent him?"