The emeralds would be mined out of the ice. And then—— What he knew for certain was that neither Morrison nor Eva would ever see Valparaiso again.
That was if the ingenious plan worked. But Lang felt that he had the checkmate now in his power. He vowed never to lose sight of that boat. Sooner or later, before sailing, Morrison must come down to inspect its readiness. A chance to speak to the explorer was all he wanted.
He walked away without glancing back, circled a block, came back and established himself at a sidewalk café where he had a fair view of the Chita, distant a hundred yards. Here he sat, sipping inferior Chilean beer, intently spying.
A continual stream of boxes and crates and gasoline tins came down to the boat. Carroll and his confederate were working hard; they appeared and disappeared in and out the cabins, but no other visitor came near the cruiser. Comparative quiet settled on the water front at nightfall, and in the dusk Carroll and Louie departed, heading through the business district.
Lang kept to his post, however, till nearly ten o’clock. He was very hungry by this time and nauseated with beer, and he went back to his hotel, pondering whether he could not lay a charge of assault and robbery against his pair of enemies and have them extradited back to Panama. He was afraid of taking any steps less he frighten them off, for the important matter now was to keep them where he could see them.
He was back at his post of observation at eight the next morning, and it was not until an hour later that Louie appeared, slouching lazily down the quay, smoking the invariable cigarette. Carroll arrived a little later; they took in no more cargo, but were busy about the craft till noon, when they once more disappeared.
It was late in the afternoon before they returned, and they did not stay long. They were gone again before six, but Lang perseveringly remained at his café seat till late in the evening. Morrison had not appeared. It might be that the boat would not sail for days. Indeed, it seemed likely that the explorer would take as long a time for rest and recovery as possible.
But, resolved to take no chances, Lang was at the wharf at eight the next morning. Even as he approached afar off there seemed something empty about the wharf. Startled, he quickened his pace, almost breaking into a run. The slip was empty indeed. The cruiser was gone.
She might have been moved to another berth. He looked wildly up and down. Desperately he snatched at an Indian dockman, pointing to the empty place and struggling for Spanish.
“Donde esta la—la gasolena-bota?”