A little more desultory conversation followed, in the course of which I managed to extract from him, in a roundabout way, a quantity of information of which I stood in need. Then the little man hoisted himself out of his chair, and with a regret born of a bottle and a half of excellent champagne, stated his intention of returning to the shore once more. Having fired another salvo of compliments at me, he carried this plan into effect, and we saw no more of him. Half-an-hour later the Harbour Master and the Chief Customs official arrived, drank more champagne, with which you may be sure I liberally plied them, smoked a number of cigars, praised their city, their country, and their excellent selves, but did nothing in the way of performing their business, and in their turn departed for the shore. Then I lunched, spent an hour in meditation in an easy-chair under the awning, and then, having ordered a boat, prepared to set off on a tour of inspection of the capital.
The landing-place at La Gloria is, or was, very similar to that of most other South American seaports. That is to say, at some distant date, harbour works on a very large scale had been commenced, but for some reason had never been completed. Possibly a Revolution may have been accountable for the stoppage of the work, or the President, or Minister of Public Works, may have decamped with the funds. At any rate all there was to show for the money voted was one substantially built wharf, the commencement of a pier, and a quantity of uncut stone, which still remained, moss-covered and weather-worn, just where the contractors had dumped it down.
I landed at the wharf, and immediately dispatched the boat back to the yacht. Trustworthy though the crew might be, I had no desire that they should hang about the sea front and talk to the inhabitants. Then, leaving the wharf, I made my way into the town.
It was a picturesque place of the true Central American type. The Calle de San Pedro, which cuts the town proper in half, is a handsome thoroughfare, and contains numerous fine shops, warehouses, and merchants' offices. Indeed, the scene in the street on that particular afternoon was a most bright and animated one, and would not have discredited Rio or Buenos Ayres. Half-a-mile or so further on the street in question enters the Great Square, in which stand the Cathedral, the Houses of Parliament, the Law Courts, and, more important than all, so far as I was concerned, the President's palace. The centre is laid out as a public garden, and possesses a band-stand and many fine statues of the heroes of Equinata in impossible garbs and more impossible attitudes. Seating myself on a bench in this garden, I took careful stock of my surroundings. Opposite me was the President's palace, with a sentry lounging on either side of the gates. While I watched the latter were opened, and a handsome carriage drove in and pulled up before the massive portico of the palace. After that the gates were closed once more.
I do not mind confessing that at this point in my adventure I was at a loss to know how to proceed. I might visit the palace and inscribe my name in the visitors' book, but, so far as I could see, that would not do very much to help me. I consulted the card I had brought with me, and on which was written the name and address of the man to whom, so Silvestre had informed me at our last meeting, I was to look for assistance. His name was Don José de Hermaños, and his address was No. 13 in the Calle de San Juan. Before leaving the yacht I had taken the precaution to make myself familiar with the quarter in which the street was situated, and had ascertained that it commenced at the Houses of Parliament and ran straight through the western portion of the city, towards the foot of the mountains. I accordingly made my way thither, and having discovered it, proceeded in search of the house in which the mysterious Don José resided, or had his place of business. Greatly to my surprise it proved to be a wine merchant's shop, and I accordingly entered the little square patio and looked about me. On the left was what was evidently the office, and in it an old man, engaged on some mysterious manipulation of an empty cask. I addressed him in my best Spanish, but he took no sort of notice of me. I called to him again with the same result. Then having satisfied myself that the old fellow was deaf, I touched him on the shoulder with my stick. This had the desired effect, for he jumped quickly round and stared at me in amazement.
A more comical countenance than he possessed I don't remember ever to have seen. He was a mulatto, and, if one might judge from his appearance, some sixty years of age. He asked me in Spanish who I desired to see, and I replied to the best of my ability that I was in search of a gentleman named Hermaños. From the signs the other made I gathered that the latter was not at home. I endeavoured to question him concerning him, but the old fellow was either naturally dense, or, for some reason best known to himself, pretended not to understand. In another moment I should have left the place in despair, but, just as I was making up my mind to do so, the sound of a footstep in the patio outside attracted my attention. I turned to find myself face to face with a tall, well-proportioned stranger, with a black beard and a pair of bristling moustaches. The old mulatto forsook his task and handed the other the card I had given him. He glanced at it, then looked up from it to me, after which he politely returned it to me, saying as he did so—
"You desire to see Don Hermaños, señor?"
"That is what has brought me here," I answered.
"You come from our neighbours across the frontier, perhaps?" he continued, still eyeing me critically.
"On the contrary, I have come by sea," I replied. "I am an Englishman, as you have doubtless already observed, and my yacht is anchored in the harbour."