"It looks that way," said Nunez, "but how do you account for such a long voyage?"
"I've been talking to Sanchez about that Miranda," said Cardatas. "He has heard that she is an old tub, and a poor sailer, and in that case five months is not such a very slow voyage. I have known of slower voyages than that."
"And now what are you going to do about it?" asked Nunez.
"The first thing I want to do is to pump that black fellow a little more."
"A good idea," said Nunez, "and we'll go and do it."
Poor Inkspot was pumped for nearly an hour, but not much was got out of him. The only feature of his information that was worth anything was the idea that he managed to convey that ballast, consisting of stones and bags of sand, had been taken out of the brig and thrown away, and bags of gold put in their places. Where this transfer had taken place, the negro could not make his questioners understand, and he was at last remanded to the care of Sanchez and the other sailor.
"The black fellow can't tell us much," said Cardatas to Nunez, as they walked away together, "but he has stuck to his story well, and there can't be any use of his lying about it. And there is another thing. What made the brig touch here just long enough to leave a letter, and that after a voyage of five months? That looks as if they were afraid some of their people would go on shore and talk."
"In that case," said Nunez, "I should say there is something shady about the business. Perhaps this captain has slipped away from his partners up there in California, or somebody who has been up to a trick has hired him to take the gold out of the country. If he does carry treasure, it isn't a fair and square thing. If it had been fair, the gold would have been sent in the regular way, by a steamer. It's no crime to send gold from California to France, or any other place."
"I agree with you," said Cardatas, as he lighted his twenty-seventh cigarette.
Nunez did not smoke, but he mused as he walked along.