V.
It was a dirty little square by the harborside, thronged with boatmen, sailors of all nations ashore for a day’s outing, picturesque cigarette-smoking loafers, fruit-sellers, negroes, uniformed police and open-shirted porters. The shops facing it were dingy, the stones of the quay awry in places, and the filth was more than is usual even in Rio de Janeiro. Tawdry like every populous quarter there, it had yet that pictorial air which all semi-tropical scenes, however much defaced by man, never quite lose. To a stranger its most salient feature was the clutter of six-sided, gaily-hued kiosques, which are scattered all through the streets of Rio, many decorated with flags and each selling lottery tickets, whatever else it might have for sale. By one, which dispensed coffee in steaming cups and cognac in tiny thin-stemmed glasses, stood an American talking to a Portuguese. The noticeable thing about the Brazilian was that he was usual and commonplace in every way. There was nothing in his form, features or dress which could possibly have served to remember him by. One might have conned him for an hour and after he was out of sight it would have been impossible to recall anything by which to describe him so as to distinguish him from any one of hundreds in the crowds of the capital. Not even his age could have been specified or approximated to. He was deliberate in his movements, watched his environment without appearing to do so and attracted no attention. Now he sipped his brandy while his interlocutor drank coffee, and the two talked in subdued tones. Discussing a purchase of ship stores, one would say.
A boatman in a suit of soiled white duck was loitering near, looking over the harbor. He sidled up to the American and cut in between speech and reply, in a deprecating voice:
“You wan’ Macedo see you talkin’ at Guimaraens, senhor Hen’son?”
“Where’s Macedo?” the other demanded.
The boatman pointed and the two men followed his hand. A boat was approaching across the sparkling water, and they saw the peculiar stroke of the navy and police-boats, in which the men pull and then rest so long with their oars poised that they seem hypnotized in mid-stroke and a novice expects them to stay so forever.
“There Macedo now, comin’ from Nictheroy,” said the fellow meaningly.
“What do you want me to do, Joao?” the American asked.
“Oh, Guimaraens he wait anywhere, come back when Macedo gone. You get in my boat, I row you roun’ pas’ those docks. Then Macedo won’ see you ’tall.”
The Portuguese disappeared softly into the crowd. The boat unobtrusively threaded the swarm of small craft, whipped behind a lighter, doubled the nose of the nearest pier, and drifted imperceptibly on while Joao reconnoitred.
“I guess we get behin’ that Lamport and Holt lighter. I don’ know wha’ Macedo goin’ to do.”
They scraped along past the spiles of the wharf and then dexterous strokes of the stubby oars kept them practically motionless under the wharf’s planking, close to one spile.
“What on earth is that?” the passenger queried, and put out his hand to the post. He grasped a watersoaked kitten, clinging desperately to the slippery wood, and too exhausted to mew.
“A cat!” the American ejaculated. “I didn’t know you had cats in this country. The city is knee-deep in dogs, but I haven’t seen a cat since I came.”
“I guess he fall overboard from that Englis’ bark, what jus’ tow out,” Joao said serenely. “That captain he got his wife too, an’ I see some little cat along the children.”
The kitten was coal black, not a white hair on it, and very wet. Henderson dried it with a handkerchief and warmed it inside of his jacket. Presently Joao said:
“Macedo’s boat gone roun’ Sacco d’Alferes. I don’ see Macedo. You bett’ not go back.”
“Go round to the Red Steps, then,” came the indulgent answer.
They rowed past the ends of the long piers, all black with shouting men in long lines, each with a sack of coffee on his head, or hurrying back for another. Then they bumped through a pack of boats of all kinds and Henderson stepped out upon the worn and mortarless stones. Joao nodded and was off without any exchange of money. The morning was a very beautiful one and this was the landing most frequented always. At the top of the steps John paused in a whirl of feelings. Before him stood Millicent Wareham in a very pretty yachting suit, and she was accompanied only by her maid. She was looking alternately back toward the custom-house and out over the bay. Secure in the fellow-feeling of exiles for each other he stepped up and greeted her. She looked startled but a moment and then her face lit with an expression of real pleasure and she held out her hand. They had not had a real conversation since childhood and yet she began as if she had seen him yesterday:
“I am so surprised. I had no idea you were here. We came only last week. That is our yacht out there. When did you come?”
John looked once only at the yacht, but keenly enough never to mistake it afterwards, and answered:
“I have been here a long time. I am on business, not pleasure.”
“We may be here some time, too. I like this part of the world and we mean to go all round South America.”
John wondered who “we” might be. He knew her father was dead and he had heard of the breaking off of her betrothal to a titled European. It was her brother she was with, likely enough, but he hoped it might be some party of friends instead.
“You’ll like it all if you like this,” he answered. “But I certainly am astonished to see you. Few Americans come here as you have. And the odd thing is that I was just thinking of you, too.”
She looked at him with an expression he remembered well from her girlhood, and smiled banteringly:
“You mustn’t say that. You know you don’t really mean it. You are just being complimentary.”
“I have documentary proof right here,” he laughed, sliding his hand inside of his coat. The kitten was dry and warm now and it mewed hungrily.
“The dear little thing,” she exclaimed. “Give it to me, won’t you?”
“Indeed I will,” he said fervently. “I am glad to find so safe a harborage for it. And ten times glad that I had the luck to find it just in time to give it to you.”
She beamed at him, fondling the wriggling little beast.
“I am going to call it Channoah,” she said, mimicking her childish pronunciation archly. The maid standing by, and the moving crowd all about, they stood chatting some minutes. The sunrays danced on the little waves of the harbor, the soft August weather of the sub-tropical winter of the southern hemisphere was clear and bright, the yellow walls of the custom house, of its warehouses, of the arsenal and military school and the army hospital, strung out along the water-front, with the bushy-headed leaning rough-trunked palms between and the red tiled roofs above made a fine background. Beyond and above the round bulging green Cariocas rose hill behind hill, topped and dominated by the sharpened camel’s hump of Corcovado. From one of the islands a bugle call blew. The throng hummed in many tongues. Then John asked:
“And may I hope to see you again before you leave?”
Her expression changed entirely, her face fell and she looked confused. She said:
“I am afraid not. I quite forgot everything in my pleasure at seeing a fellow-countryman and an old playmate. I could not deny myself the indulgence of greeting you and then I quite lost myself, it was so natural to be with you. But Bertie may be back any minute and it would never do for him to know I have been talking to you. Please go now.”
Her manner was constrained and her air was resuming that distance and hauteur which he was used to seeing in her.
“Goodbye,” she said, “and thank you for the kitten.”
John walked quickly to the coffee exchange and from out of the crowd that filled it he had the satisfaction of seeing Albert Wareham pass and of knowing that he did not notice him and could not suspect that Milly had seen him. It was something to have even that secret between himself and Milly.
After gun-fire no boat is allowed to move about Rio harbor or bay without a formal signed, sealed and stamped permit from the authorities. All night the half dozen fussy little steam-launches of the water-police are shooting about on the dark water, cutting flashing ripples through the trails of light which the shore lights shed over the bay and probing the pitchy shadows with stiletto flashes of their search-lights. The penalty for being caught without papers is forfeiture of the boat and a night in the calaboose for all, and a rigorous trial for any suspected of intended stealing or smuggling. Between the American and Norwegian anchorages a small boat was moving noiselessly. It was after gun-fire but still early in the night. The oars made no sound and the craft kept to the obscure parts of the water. In the dead silence they preserved the two men in it heard a faint puffing still far off. They were at the most exposed part of their passage, far from any ship and farther from the nearest wharf. By the sound the search-light would reveal them in a moment, they judged. The launch was coming from the west, and to eastward of them, nearer the entrance of the bay, was the anchorages for vessels temporarily in harbor and for pleasure yachts. One said something and the rower began to do his utmost, after turning toward the east. Henderson had seen that he had but one chance. He knew what would happen to him if he were caught and he could see no escape. He had sighted the Halcyon, Wareham’s yacht, and formed his plan at once. If Milly was on her and her brother ashore he might be saved. If not, he was no worse off for rowing up to her.
They had more start than they had thought and both began to regret they had not kept on toward the wharves. The launch turned the light toward them, but their distance was such that it only half revealed them. They were near the yacht now and the gangway was not on their side. Joao rounded the yacht’s stern and bumped on the lowest step, the launch throbbing after them at top speed. Henderson stepped up the gangway. The anchor-watch had not hailed them and he had his heart in his mouth at the certainty that either the best or worst was coming. Before he reached the deck a face leaned over the rail well aft and a soft voice asked:
“Who is that, please?” and the words were in English.
John’s heart leapt.
“Jack,” he answered with almost a cry of relief.
Just then a yellow glare swung round from aft and an excited voice called out in Portuguese.
Milly took in the whole situation instantly. She had been told of the regulations and she had heard of Henderson’s supposed real business in Brazil. The instant the pulsations of the tiny engine ceased as the launch slowed down she spoke clearly in French, with a pleased tone of recognition in her utterance:
“Is that you, Captain Macedo? What did you ask?”
“Ah, Miss Wareham,” came the deferential answer, “ten thousand pardons. I thought I was addressing the watch on your vessel.”
Miss Wareham said something in sharp low tones to someone behind her and replied:
“Will not I do as well? I was in hopes you were coming to see me, Captain Macedo.”
“I am on duty now, not on pleasure, alas. Did not a boat approach your yacht just now?”
The keen reflector shone full on Joao and on Henderson as he stood on the gangway.
“Certainly,” Milly said. “One of my friends has just come to call on me. He is under my permit, I sent it ashore to him. Can’t you come up a moment and meet him, Captain Macedo?”
The officer muttered something and then after a flood of apologies uttered in a very vexed tone, the launch sheered off and bustled away. Henderson went up the steps of the gangway and a rather conventional greeting passed between him and his hostess. She said something to the officer of the yacht and he disappeared into his quarters. The man on watch was well forward, the maid sat under the farthest corner of the awning, and Milly motioned him to a seat, herself sinking into her deck-chair. He could not see her well by the cool starlight, but her voice was friendly as her prompt action had been, and he was advised of the presence of the kitten in her lap by its loud purring. He took courage.
“I have much to thank you for, Milly,” he said, half hesitating over the old pet name. “I was in a tight place but for your sharpness.”
“I hope I shall be forgiven for my falsehoods,” she said. “But that is not what I want to talk to you about. I have heard about you on shore and I am very much concerned. Sammy Roland had a great deal to say of you. He tells me that everyone feels in the air the presence of plots to overthrow Fonseca as he did with the emperor, and Sammy says that the conspirators are buying arms and ammunition and that it is whispered about that you are the chief of the foreign agents engaged in this dangerous speculation. I am worried beyond expression to think of the risks you run if this is true.”
John looked her straight in the eyes and she returned his gaze silently. After some breaths he spoke.
“I know I ought to deny totally your insinuations, but I can not help trusting you, Milly.”
“God knows,” she said, “you can trust me utterly.”
“And I will,” he replied. “This puts not only myself but others in your power. You must not breathe a word of it, Milly. I am on just the business you have heard of and on others like it. The profits are something enormous and the risk is proportional. If I had not found refuge behind your subterfuge and quickness I should be now under the certainty of being shot before daylight.”
“Oh, not so bad as that, Jack,” she exclaimed in an excited whisper. “They would never shoot an American citizen that way.”
“The matters I am mixed up in,” he answered, “are not things for which one dares to ask the protection of any flag. I am as near to being a pirate as one can come in these days. And Fonseca is a man who would shoot me first and take the risk of the legation and consulate never suspecting what had become of me, or even of having to reckon with them if they did. He is quick and heavy-handed.”
“I do not think him as ferocious as you do, Jack,” she said; “but I am quite as anxious about you as possible. Sammy’s gossip might be exaggerated and generally is. But Mr. Hernwick is a very different person. And he, while he has had nothing to say about you, has talked to me a great deal about the general situation here. He says that Admiral Mello is at the head of the malcontents and is preparing to lead a revolt of the entire navy. You probably know more about that than Mr. Hernwick. The thing that struck me was this. He says Mello is over-confident and is going to bungle the entire plot from haste and temerity. If Mr. Hernwick says that, don’t you think there is something in it.”
“Indeed I do,” Jack answered heavily. “I have had some glimpses of something of the sort. Now can you solemnly assure me, Milly, that Hernwick did say so? For I have half a mind to give up the whole matter and all its golden promises of fortune. There is another opening for me elsewhere, not so glittering but safer and fairly profitable. Mr. Hernwick is a man I respect highly and no Englishman knows so much about the tangle of intrigues which envelopes this nation. If he had said that to me, openly and emphatically, I should act on it.”
“And won’t you believe me, Jack, and act on what I say? I am so anxious about you?”
The night was clear and cool, the breeze soft and even, it was cosy under the awning and it was very pleasant and very novel to have a woman so interested in himself. He was silent a moment, his elbows on his knees, leaning forward on the camp-stool on which he sat. The tiny ripples swished under the counter as the yacht swung on her cable. A banjo twanged on a vessel somewhere near, a military band was playing a native air in one of the plazas by the water-front, the lights danced on the surface of the bay, and the kitten purred. Jack sighed and said:
“It is hard to let slip such possibilities. But I’ll promise.”
She held out her hand to his and they clasped. It was a long pressure. And then she began to talk of other things and to change the current of his thoughts. They went back to the old days in the garden and she told him much of her life in the years between and he also narrated much of his. They recalled the old pass-words and mutual jokes for themselves only. And through all their long talk the purring of “Channoah the third,” as Milly called him, ran as a sort of undertone. Jack could not recall any evening which he had enjoyed so much.
Milly even spoke of her brother and deprecated his hatred of Henderson. She did not deny it nor try to excuse it, but her dexterous talk left Jack soothed and feeling that however much her interest in himself was merely friendly, it was certain that she did not share her brother’s contempt for him.
The launch had been circling about a half a mile off or so. Now Joao blew a soft low whistle. The coast was clear for them to slip ashore and Jack said goodbye.