“Yes, I did. What made you guess that?”
“Well,” said Sellers, “it’s easy to be seen you aren’t one of us, and your clothes give you away. It’s easy to be seen you haven’t been dough-dishing long in the old Sarah. I didn’t get your name.”
“Ratcliffe.”
“No trade or business?”
“None. My father was Ratcliffe the shipowner, Holt & Ratcliffe.”
“Lord—love—a—duck!” said Sellers. “You’re not wanting for money, I reckon. Well, this gets me, it do indeed! Holt & Ratcliffe—should think I did know them!”
“Antonio!” suddenly piped Carquinez.
“Si, Señor.” Antonio appeared.
“Pedro Murias,” said Carquinez.
Antonio vanished, and reappeared with a box of cigars, colossal cigars, worth twenty-five guineas a hundred in the London market. They were placed on the table and pushed toward Ratcliffe.