“You didn’t think of that when Mr. Hawley was in danger,” Virginia protested indignantly. “You were quite ready to risk your career in the navy, and possibly your life, then.”
“But Hawley was my friend, and I was under great obligations to him, besides.”
“Does that make such a great difference?” the girl inquired somewhat coldly. “Are you willing to remain inactive while an innocent man is suffering a fate worse than death? Do you not feel an obligation to expose the villainy of these rascals? If so, I must say that I am disappointed in you, Mr. Ridder.”
For a few seconds the lieutenant remained silent. Then suddenly his face lighted up. “You are right, Miss Throgmorton,” he said, “I can’t leave Baracoa without making an attempt to set Felix free. I don’t know how we’ll go about it, but we’ll find a way—you and I together.” He jumped to his feet, and, shading his eyes with his hand, looked toward the point in the road where Uncle Peter was waiting with the horses.
“Hello!” he exclaimed. “Who’s that talking with your colored man? Looks like a tramp.”
“More likely a spy,” Virginia remarked, frowning. “I quite expected that I would be followed. Well, of all the audacity! Look! He’s actually coming up to us.”
Sure enough, the stranger, having exchanged a few words with the old darky, was climbing up the hill toward them, walking with the shambling gait of a native mendicant. He was a dark-haired, swarthy man, apparently past middle age. He was tall, but his figure was so bent that he appeared to be undersized. There was a five days’ growth of hair on his chin, his clothing was in rags, and his feet were bare. Altogether, he was by no means a prepossessing person.
“A thousand pardons, señor, for this intrusion,” he whined, addressing Ridder in Spanish, “but if you would earn the undying gratitude of a starving wretch, you can do so by separating yourself from a few cents. American money will do.”
“Go away,” the navy man growled. He spoke with unwonted roughness, which was due in part to Virginia’s suspicion that the intruder was probably a spy, and partly to the fact that although the lieutenant’s knowledge of Spanish was limited, he was sufficiently familiar with that language to realize the insolence with which the beggar spoke. “Onda pronto!” he exclaimed, with a threatening gesture.
He was startled by a cry from Virginia—a cry of mingled astonishment and joy. “Mr. Hawley!” the girl exclaimed with a half-hysterical laugh.