“What do you mean, you’re the one person who could have helped us find Mr. Monahan?” the Scout leader asked quickly. “You have information you’ve withheld?”
“No such thing,” the captain denied. “I was the last white man to see him alive, and I know the country. But you and me can never get along.”
“A true observation,” Mr. Livingston returned. “We want no association with a man who would aid revolutionists.”
“High and mighty, ain’t you?” Captain Carter sneered. “Without me, you got no chance of ever finding Burton Monahan.”
“You know what became of him?”
“Maybe I got an idea,” the seaman returned, his eyes glinting. “Maybe if you’d play along my way—forget all your grand and glorious ideals, we could work together.”
“Just what do you propose? That we help you get your contraband cargo to a Revolutionist leader?”
“Oh, stow that talk, will you? You jar my compass! Can’t you get it through your thick skull that I’m not tied up with any revolutionists? Maybe in the old days, I picked up a dollar here and there bringing in stuff for Carlos Vandetti, but that’s behind me.”
“Then why were you bringing in grenades and ammunition?”
“I got a good use for ’em. One tender load made shore before you brought those sneakin’ officials down on my back. It ain’t enough for my purpose, but I’ll make it do.”