CHAPTER XXI.
SELF-BETRAYED.
THE consternation and bewilderment caused to our little party by the pearl-fishing captain’s visit may be better imagined than described.
The captain’s burly figure had hardly disappeared when Duke came back wagging his tail. Alas! poor dog, he little knew the trouble he had caused his friends. He came up and laid his head down on Alice’s knee to be patted, and made much of her as was his wont.
Of course we discussed the recent event in all its bearings. The only definite result of the long talk, however, was the general conclusion, which can perhaps be best stated in Mr. Millward’s words, as follows:
“We are discovered,” he said, “just as we were congratulating ourselves that we would not be. The man does not know, however, that we are aware of the pearl-fishery. He believes, on the contrary, that we are not aware of it. If we are not apprised of his secret he can have no object in doing us harm. He tells us the first convenient lie that occurs to him to gain time to think matters over. However bad he may be in fact, it is not to be expected that he will go to the length of wantonly murdering three people for no purpose; and I feel, therefore, that we are safe as long as he does not fear that we have discovered his secret. That he intends to offer us a passage on his sloop I do not believe at all. That would be to betray his business here at once; for even if the general character and appearance of the men and apparatus did not suggest it, when we reached port it would inevitably come out. I am inclined to believe he told the truth when he said that the party did not intend to remain long on the island. Now, if we can keep matters as they are at present, the gang will doubtless remove all evidence of their occupation, and then quietly leave the island, and leave us to get away as best we may.”
This all seemed reasonable and probable. Our cue, therefore, was plainly not to discover the pearl-fishery secret, but to remain quietly at home and await events, without attempting to invade our neighbor’s privacy.
That this was a wise conclusion was made evident that very day in the afternoon, as follows:—
In plain sight of the house and on the skirts of the savanna, or open grass-land, there grew a huge silk cotton-tree, with buttressed trunk and spreading branches. I chanced to be looking that way and noticed a flock of parrots fly to the tree and then, instead of lighting on its branches as they seemed to have intended, break up into a confused body as though something therein alarmed them, and scatter in all directions. My first impression was to go up to the tree, which was perhaps an eighth of a mile distant, to investigate. Then the idea occurred to me that the flurry among the birds might have been caused by the captain or some of his gang lurking there to spy upon us. To satisfy my mind on this point, I went to the house and got Mr. Millward’s glass, and putting it through a crevice which I cut in the wall for that purpose, examined the neighborhood of the distant tree very carefully. Presently I saw, perched high in the branches, and partly concealed by the foliage, so as to be quite invisible to the naked eye, my old acquaintance the Chinaman. There he was comfortably ensconced among the limbs, knitting away at his white sock, just as I had before seen him. Undoubtedly he was on watch to spy out our doings.
“Watch on, my celestial friend,” thought I; “we shall endeavor to conduct ourselves to the eminent satisfaction of your black-whiskered patron.”
I reported the discovery of the spy to my companions, and we had a quiet laugh to ourselves over the matter. The only thing we did in consequence of the discovery was to tie up poor Duke in the shed for fear that he might find the Chinaman and occasion him some uneasiness of mind. For, in truth, the fact that the captain had set his Chinaman to watch us was a thing that comforted me amazingly. I reasoned it out in this fashion: So long as the captain knew we stayed safely at home, so long would he feel that his secret was safe; and so long as he felt his secret safe, so long would he lack motive to molest us. The spy was a guarantee that he would know that we were not spying about ourselves.