CHAPTER XXII
THE CONVICT FROM CEUTA
The streets of Cadiz were deserted. Only by the Quay was there any sign of life, for here the crew of the Brazilian warship, the Maria Braganza, were languidly embarking stores on flat-bottomed lighters, and discussing, with a wealth of language and in no complimentary terms, the energy of their commander. It was obvious, so they said in their picturesque language, that a warship was never intended to carry cargo, and if the Brazilian Government was foolish enough to purchase war stores in Spain, it should go a little farther, and charter a Spanish merchant ship to carry them.
So they cursed Captain Lombrosa for a dog and the son of a dog, and predicted for him an eternity of particular discomfort.
Captain Lombrosa, a short, swarthy man, knew nothing of his unpopularity and probably cared less. He was sitting in the Café of the Five Nations, near the Plaza Mayor, picking his teeth thoughtfully and reading from time to time the cablegram from his Government which informed him that certain defalcations of his had been discovered by the paymaster-general of the navy, and demanding peremptorily his return to Rio de Janeiro.
To say that Captain Lombrosa was unperturbed would be to exaggerate. No man who builds his house upon sand can calmly regard the shifting foundations of his edifice. But he was not especially depressed, for many reasons. The Government had merely anticipated events by a week or so.
He read the cablegram with its pencilled decodation, smiled sadly, put up his feet on a chair, and called for another bottle of Rioja.
There is an unlovely road through the dreary waste that leads from Cadiz to San Fernando. Beyond the city and beyond the Arsenal the road winds through the bleak salt marshes to Jerez, that Xeres de la Frontera which has given its name to the amber wine of Spain.
A solitary horseman cantered into San Fernando, his clothing white with brackish dust. He drew rein before the Café Cruz Blanca and dismounted, an untidy barefooted boy leading his horse away.
There were few people in the saloon of the café, for a chill wind was abroad, and the cappa is a very poor protection against the icy breezes that blow from the Sierras.