“There’s another chance for you to plant a fir cone,” he said. “Can’t you find some use for this gentleman?”
But Cartwright was not smiling.
“Señor Ferreira,” he said crisply, “you are, as all Spain knows, a thief and a rogue. If you associate with bigger thieves and bigger scoundrels, that is your business. I can only tell you that you may think yourself lucky I did not bring this case before the Spanish Consul. I assure you, you would never have put your foot in Tangier again after the stories I have heard about you.”
The little Spaniard was open-mouthed and impressed. He was also a little frightened. Cartwright’s accusation had been at a venture, but he argued that it was scarcely likely that, in an establishment of the description which Mr. Ferreira controlled, there could have been no incidents which reflected upon the manager.
“Everything which is said about me is a lie!” said the little man vigorously. “I have lived a life of the highest virtue! To-day I complain to the British Consul, and we shall see!”
“Complain,” said Cartwright.
“This chance I will give you.” Señor Ferreira wagged a fat, stumpy finger. “Restore to me Miss O’Grady, and the matter shall go no farther.”
“Miss O’Grady has left Tangier,” said the other calmly, “so it is clear to you that I cannot restore her.”
“She has not left,” vociferated the Spaniard. “We had a man to watch the boat leaving for the Gibel Musa and she did not leave the pier.”
“She left the beach,” explained Cartwright patiently; “she was rowed out by a boatman from the Cecil. At this moment she is half-way to Gibraltar.”