Wyndham's Pal Part 28

Larrinaga's eyes twinkled. "Very well. I think I can promise you will not be bothered much." He paused, and resumed in a thoughtful voice: "I expect you know your trading at the lagoon just now may lead to trouble?"

"All trade is troublesome, particularly when it is carried on in the mangrove swamps," Marston interposed. "The lagoon is not much worse than other spots. Anyhow, the profits are large and we must earn some money."

"But Senor Wyndham stated that you are rich."

"Rich people are sometimes greedy," Marston rejoined with a touch of awkwardness. "I did not begin business with the object of losing my capital."

Wyndham thought he would leave Bob alone. Larrinaga would not suspect him of plotting and his rather obvious embarra.s.sment was an advantage.

Bob was the man one would expect to be embarra.s.sed when engaged in trying to bribe a government officer to sanction his smuggling. For all that, Wyndham gave Larrinaga a keen glance. The latter leaned back carelessly and rolled a cigarette. His movements were firm and quick.

Don Ramon was clever and knew much about the bush. It was possible he knew Wyndham had supplied the Bat with goods and he might mean to let him do so for a time while he took his bribes, hoping to cheat both by giving them a feeling of false security. Wyndham, however, did not think Don Ramon knew the Bat was his relation; Peters knew, but he was not the man to share a secret he had thought worth much. Although one must not altogether take this for granted, Wyndham could not see another plan.

"Very well," said Larrinaga when he had made his cigarette. "I will take your money and see you are not bothered." Then he looked hard at Wyndham. "I will give you a hint: wait until your cargo comes down and do not go far from the beach. The bush is dangerous for strangers just now."

"We heard something about this," Marston replied. "I don't like the _Mestizos_, and if they're plotting trouble, hope you'll put them down."

"My partner has a horror of the swamps," Marston remarked with a smile.

"If he was not keen to earn some money, he would not enter the lagoon.

He has not joined me long and wants his friends to think he has a talent for business."

Larrinaga shrugged and got up. "The English and Americans are hard to understand. If I were rich, I would be satisfied to lounge about the plaza and now and then gamble at the casino with my friends. I would not gamble with the _Mestizos_ in the swamps. The chances are too much on the side of the banker there. Well, I wish you good luck until we meet again."

The others went with him to the gangway and when the launch steamed off Marston sat down and looked about. It had got dark but a half moon drew a sparkling track across the calm sea. Anchor lights swung languidly by the sh.o.r.e, and in the background the white town shone with a pale reflection against the dusky hills. Music came off across the water with the rumble of the surf, and the smooth swell splashed softly against the vessel's side. Presently Marston turned and looked to the east.

"One feels an English steamer's a bit of England. She takes civilization and decency where she goes; but it will be different to-morrow when we board _Columbine_. I wish our job was finished and we were going the other way. Anyhow, it must be finished, and I don't know if I liked the line you took. Don Ramon won't hand over all the money."

"It's possible," Wyndham agreed. "Still I think you urged that we must begin by paying the duties we had dodged."

"I wanted them paid to the Government, not to a corrupt official who thinks he's got another bribe. The duties belong to the country."

"Oh, well. I don't know a channel by which the country would get its dues. All are leaky; in fact, they are meant to leak. It's significant that official salaries are small. However, I don't expect Don Ramon is dishonester than the rest. Some of the money will go where it ought."

"Perhaps it's not important," Marston said thoughtfully. "All the same, you rather let the fellow think we wanted to smuggle."

"Smuggling's profitable. It was prudent to hint we had an object for haunting the lagoon. On the whole, I imagine a frank statement that we were trying to be honest would not have satisfied Don Ramon; one must make allowances for the other fellow's point of view. I hope he is satisfied, but I doubt."

"He is not a fool," Marston remarked. "I expect he reckons we mean to supply the Bat with things he needs to fight the Government. If he's not altogether corrupt, why does he let us go on?"

"It's not very plain. Anyhow, I imagine he won't let us go on very long.

In fact, speed's important. We must finish the job before we are stopped."

"The rebellion must be stopped," Marston agreed. "In a way, I don't care who rules the country; I expect n.o.body would rule it well. All the same, I'm not going to see white traders murdered and the swamp-belt given up to a cruel brute who would rule it on the African plan."

"The Bat can't start his rebellion without supplies, which we don't mean to give him," Wyndham said dryly. "Things would be easier if he were not my uncle."

Marston hesitated. "This bothers me most. D'you think Larrinaga knows?"

"I think not. Peters knows, however, and when he finds out where we've gone I expect we'll soon have him on our track. This means we must reckon on three antagonists."

"Three?" said Marston with a puzzled look.

Wyndham nodded. "I expect we'll find Rupert Wyndham the worst. However, I see one advantage; none of the three knows our plans and all theirs clash. We are not up against a combine."

"We haven't a plan," Marston objected.

"Oh, well," said Wyndham. "Since that is so we must trust our luck."

He went off and Marston smoked a cigarette and mused. He had wanted to be open and honest, but since they could not use force, he admitted reluctantly that they must intrigue. The job did not look as simple as he had thought in England; it was getting obvious that Rupert Wyndham would be their worst antagonist. The fellow was, so to speak, no longer a white man; he was a savage with a l.u.s.t for cruelty and power, but he had a white man's intelligence. To imagine he could be persuaded to give up his ambitious plans was ridiculous; he had no moral sense to which one could appeal. All the same, it was unthinkable that they should let him be captured by Larrinaga and shot.

Marston could see no light and presently threw away his cigarette and got up. The job was awkward, but he must not own he was beaten before he had begun. He would go on and trust his luck. In the meantime, he had promised to play cards with some pa.s.sengers and he went to the smoking-room. They played until the electric light went out, when Marston found he had lost five pounds. It did not look as if his luck was very good.

In the morning, the steamer sailed and when she stopped again as dark fell a boat was hoisted out. High land loomed, vague and blue, against the sunset, drifting mist hid the beach, and not far off two masts and a dark hull cut against the hazy background. As he went to the gangway Marston looked back with a curious feeling of regret. The steamer stood for much that he liked and knew, and he had enjoyed the society of her officers. Their temperament was sane and practical. They did not seek strange adventures; theirs was a healthful struggle against the obvious dangers of the sea.

In front, all was different, and Marston could not see where his path led. Mystery, and perhaps horror, deepened the gloom through which he must grope his way, and his face was grim as he went down the ladder.

He did not talk while the sailors rowed him to _Columbine_, and leaving Wyndham to give the crew some orders he sat down on the gratings by the wheel.

The dew was falling and the deck was damp. Moisture dripped from the masts and ropes, and it was very hot. The anchor light tossed against the portentous gloom of the land. The yacht looked old and dirty, though Marston knew her strength and speed; the half-naked crew made no noise as they stole about. Their dark skin was scarcely distinguishable and Marston thought they rather looked like ghosts than men.

In the meantime, the steamer's boat was pulling back. Marston saw her move across the dim reflections on the water, but the splash of oars got faint and by and by she vanished in the dark. Then a whistle shrieked and lights that twinkled in the distance began to move. The throb of engines traveled far, but it presently died away and all was quiet.

Marston was launched on his adventure, and since he was practical, he went below and studied the chart.

CHAPTER II

MARSTON GETS A WARNING

It was dark and the mud village was strangely quiet. Thin mist drifted about the house Don Felix had occupied, and Wyndhams' new agent leaned forward slackly with his arm on the table. He was a young French creole, but his face was pinched and careworn.

Marston, sitting in a corner, studied the man. When he last saw Lucien Moreau he was vigorous and marked by a careless confidence. Now his glance was furtive and sometimes he fixed it on the window. There was no gla.s.s and the shutters had been left open because the night was hot.

Marston remembered Don Felix's disconcerting habit of looking at the window when it was dark. The miasma from the swamps had obviously undermined Moreau's health; but Marston doubted if this accounted for all.

Moreau had been talking for two or three minutes when Wyndham stopped him.

"I understand you want to give up your post?" he said.

"That is so," the other agreed. "For one thing, you do not need an agent when you are closing down your business." He paused and gave Wyndham a sullen look. "Besides, I have had enough."

"Your pay is good."

"Good pay is of no use if one dies before one can spend it," Moreau rejoined.

"Very well," said Wyndham. "If you have had enough, we must try to let you go. However, since your engagement runs for some time, you must stay a month."

Moreau agreed unwillingly and Wyndham asked: "Have you sent for the fellow who gave us our last load?"