Brandon of the Engineers Part 39

Don Sebastian shrugged. "_Quien sabe?_ The princ.i.p.al has not a German name."

"Isn't Richter German?"

"Richter has gone. It is possible that he has done his work. His friend, however, is the head of the coaling company."

"Do you think Kenwardine was his partner? If so, it's hard to understand why he let you come to his house. He's not a fool."

The Spaniard's dark eyes twinkled. "Senor Kenwardine is a clever man, and it is not always safer to keep your antagonist in the dark when you play an intricate game. Senor Kenwardine knew it would have been a mistake to show he thought I suspected him and that he had something to conceal. We were both very frank, to a point, and now and then talked about the complications that might spring from the coaling business.

Because we value our trade with England and wish to attract British capital, he knew we would not interfere with him unless we had urgent grounds, and wished to learn how far we would let him go. It must be owned that in this country official suspicion can often be disarmed."

"By a bribe? I don't think Kenwardine is rich," d.i.c.k objected.

"Then it is curious that he is able to spend so much at Adexe."

d.i.c.k frowned, for he saw what the other implied. If Kenwardine had to be supplied with money, where did it come from? It was not his business to defend the man and he must do what he could to protect British shipping, but Kenwardine was Clare's father, and he was not going to expose him until he was sure of his guilt.

"But if he was plotting anything that would get your President into trouble, he must have known he would be found out."

"Certainly. But suppose he imagined he might not be found out until he had done what he came to do? It would not matter then."

d.i.c.k said nothing. He knew he was no match for the Spaniard in subtlety, but he would not be forced into helping him. He set his lips, and Don Sebastian watched him with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Well," said the latter, "you have my sympathy. The senorita's eyes are bright."

"I cannot have Miss Kenwardine mentioned," d.i.c.k rejoined. "She has nothing to do with the matter."

"That is agreed," Don Sebastian answered, and leaned forward as he added in a meaning tone: "You are English and your life has been threatened by men who plot against your country. I might urge that they may try again and I could protect you; but you must see what their thinking you dangerous means. Now I want your help."

d.i.c.k's face was very resolute as he looked at him. "If any harm comes to the liner, I'll do all I can. But I'll do nothing until I know. In the meantime, can you warn the captain?"

Don Sebastian bowed. "I must be satisfied with your promise. We may find the key to the telegram, and must try to get into communication with the steamer."

They went down stairs together, but the Spaniard did not leave the office with d.i.c.k, who went out alone and found Bethune and Jake waiting at the end of the line. They bantered him about his leaving them on board the ship, but although he thought Jake looked at him curiously, he told them nothing.

When work stopped on the Sat.u.r.day evening, Jake and d.i.c.k went to dine with Bethune. It was getting dark when they reached a break in the dam, where a gap had been left open while a sluice was being built. A half-finished tower rose on the other side and a rope ladder hung down for the convenience of anybody who wished to cross. A large iron pipe that carried water to a turbine, however, spanned the chasm, and the sure-footed peons often used it as a bridge. This required some agility and nerve, but it saved an awkward scramble across the sluice and up the concrete.

"There's just light enough," Jake remarked, and balancing himself carefully, walked out upon the pipe.

d.i.c.k followed and getting across safely, stopped at the foot of the tower and looked down at the rough blocks and unfinished ironwork in the bottom of the gap.

"The men have been told to use the ladder, but as they seldom do so, it would be safer to run a wire across for a hand-rail," he said. "Anybody who slipped would get a dangerous fall."

They went on to Bethune's iron shack, where Stuyvesant joined them, and after dinner sat outside, talking and smoking. A carafe of Spanish wine and some gla.s.ses stood on a table close by.

"I've fired Jose's and Pancho's gangs; they've been asking for it for some time," Stuyvesant remarked. "In fact, I'd clear out most of the shovel boys if I could replace them. They've been saving money and are getting slack."

The others agreed that it might be advisable. The half-breeds from the hills, attracted by good wages, worked well when first engaged, but generally found steady labor irksome and got discontented when they had earned a sum that would enable them to enjoy a change.

"I don't think you'd get boys enough in this neighborhood," Bethune said.

"That's so. Anyhow, I'd rather hire a less sophisticated crowd; the half-civilized _Meztiso_ is worse than the other sort, but I don't see why we shouldn't look for some further along the coast. Do you feel like taking the launch, Brandon, and trying what you can do?"

"I'd enjoy the trip," d.i.c.k answered with some hesitation. "But I'd probably have to go beyond Coronal, and it might take a week."

"That won't matter; stay as long as it's necessary," Stuyvesant said, for he had noticed a slackness in d.i.c.k's movements and his tired look.

"Things are going pretty well just now, and you have stuck close to your work. The change will brace you up. Anyhow, I want fresh boys and Bethune's needed here, but you can take Jake along if you want company."

Jake declared that he would go, but d.i.c.k agreed with reluctance. He felt jaded and depressed, for the double strain he had borne was beginning to tell. His work, carried on in scorching heat, demanded continuous effort, and when it stopped at night he had private troubles to grapple with.

Though he had been half-prepared for Clare's refusal, it had hit him hard, and he could find no means of exposing Kenwardine's plots without involving her in his ruin. It would be a relief to get away, but he might be needed at Santa Brigida.

Bethune began to talk about the alterations a contractor wished to make, and by and by there was a patter of feet and a hum of voices in the dark.

The voices grew louder and sounded angry as the steps approached the house, and Stuyvesant pushed back his chair.

"It's Jose's or Pancho's breeds come to claim that their time is wrong. I suppose one couldn't expect that kind of crowd to understand figures, but although Francois' accounts are seldom very plain, he's not a grafter."

Then a native servant entered hurriedly.

"They all come, senor," he announced. "Pig tief say Fransoy rob him and he go ca.s.ser office window." He turned and waved his hand threateningly as a big man in ragged white clothes came into the light. "_Fuera, puerco ladron!_"

The man took off a large palm-leaf hat and flourished it with ironical courtesy.

"Here is gran escandolo, senores. _La belle chose, verdad!_ Me I have trent' dollar; the grand tief me pay----"

Stuyvesant signed to the servant. "Take them round to the back corral; we can't have them on the veranda." Then he turned to d.i.c.k. "You and Bethune must convince them that the time-sheets are right; you know more about the thing than I do. Haven't you been helping Francois, Fuller?"

"I'm not a linguist," Jake answered with a grin. "When they talk French and Spanish at once it knocks me right off my height, as Francois sometimes declares."

They all went round to the back of the house, where Bethune and d.i.c.k argued with the men. The latter had been dismissed and while ready to go wanted a grievance, though some honestly failed to understand the deductions from their wages. They had drawn small sums in advance, taken goods out of store, and laid off now and then on an unusually hot day, but the amount charged against them was larger than they thought. For all that, Bethune using patience and firmness pacified them, and after a time they went away satisfied while the others returned to the veranda.

"Arguing in languages you don't know well is thirsty work, and we'd better have a drink," Bethune remarked.

He pushed the carafe across the table, but d.i.c.k picked up his gla.s.s, which he had left about half full. He was hot and it was a light Spanish wine that one could drink freely, but when he had tasted it he emptied what was left over the veranda rails.

Bethune looked surprised, but laughed. "The wine isn't very good, but the others seem able to stand for it. I once laid out a mine ditch in a neighborhood where you'd have wanted some courage to throw away a drink the boys had given you."

"It was very bad manners," d.i.c.k answered awkwardly. "Still, I didn't like the taste----"

He stopped, noticing that Jake gave him a keen glance, but Stuyvesant filled his gla.s.s and drank.

"What's the matter with the wine?" he asked.

d.i.c.k hesitated. He wanted to let the matter drop, but he had treated Bethune rudely and saw that the others were curious.

"It didn't taste as it did when I left it. Of course this may have been imagination."

"But you don't think so?" Stuyvesant rejoined. "In fact, you suspect the wine was doped after we went out?"

"No," said d.i.c.k with a puzzled frown; "I imagine any doping stuff would make it sour. The curious thing is that it tasted better than usual but stronger."