“I suppose it’s a desire for romance on his part too. He likes poking his nose into anything of that sort. No cob-webs about him! Anyhow, I’ll spend a good deal of to-morrow working through that passage and find out if there’s anything to show him. We might find hidden treasure in it—The smugglers’ hoard! If they left any brandy there it would be worth drinking by now.”
I was at a loss to understand his eagerness about this passage, and some instinct made me resent it a little. I put it to myself that I did not want the peace of my home disturbed. I did not want foul air and dust coming up into the house. I preferred to go elsewhere for the details of romance. I knew that these were not my real reasons. But I had always avoided the tunnel without knowing why, and I did not want it disturbed now.
“You will probably find there is no tunnel at all,” I said. “It may be just a village tradition.”
“But you have seen both ends of it. And how else could the noise come from the forge? Anyhow, I’ll know all about it to-morrow.”
I brought the conversation back to the more congenial topic of the Astarte and my projected cruise.
I had always been a keen yachtsman, and the novelty and the unconventional nature of the trip appealed to me.
There was nothing to prevent my finding a suitable man to take charge of the parish for a few weeks or more. Edmund’s attitude was a little discouraging. He was certainly not enthusiastic.
“We must see how you and Welfare get on,” he said. “It’s close quarters with a man if you don’t just hit it with him. It’s a queer ship’s company, anyhow. All the crew are Arabs. You see their food costs next to nothing; flour and lentils and the milk of a couple of goats, mostly. And they work like niggers for a couple of piastres a day. We have a sort of skipper over them called Jakoub, I don’t know any other name for him. He’s a magnificent sailor-man, knows all our boat and everybody in it. He rules his men with—well, the Arab equivalent of a rod of iron, acts as interpreter and saves us all bother with natives. In fact he’s practically invaluable, and I firmly believe, an ineffable blackguard.”
“He doesn’t live with you, I presume?”
“Good God, no! He’s a native.”