"Downright sure of it," I declared, in solemn earnest. After a few moments of silence, I asked gently: "Do you mind telling me more?"
She gave a slight start as though the question had brought her from some deep thought, but smiled, saying:
"Certainly, I don't. When your two friends left you in the café my father became terribly excited. I asked him what on earth was the trouble—but smiling, for that was a subterfuge he always demanded of me in public places—and he whispered that he thought the shorter man was a police agent from his lost republic."
"Lost republic?"
"Yes. You see, my father had been its President—in South America, you know—until the revolution compelled us to fly." This was said resignedly.
"Oh," I murmured. "When was that?"
"Years ago. I just remember being carried off one night in a great hurry."
"Tell me the rest about Havana?" I asked, trying to appear calm.
"It's all rather awful," she sighed. "I hadn't noticed your friends more than to get a glimpse of them as they left, but saw you alone at the table. Pretty soon our captain, Jess,"—she may have given a slight shudder, I wasn't sure—"came up and verified my father's suspicions, and then I thought he surely would lose his mind. I was already becoming frightened, especially as the creature, Jess, impertinently leered at me, and my father didn't knock him down for it. He had never dared look at me before, except most deferentially, and suddenly I felt that I was nearing something awful. I can't explain it. It just came to me all of a sudden, you know, with desperate certainty, and—and I wanted to run away."
"Were you trying to tell me that?"