Don Emilio smoked for some moments in silence. Then the sight of a cabin sloop rounding a point of land to the northeast of them claimed his attention.
“Pedro,” he called, pointing, “that sloop carries the red jack fluttering from her bowsprit tip. That, then, is our boat.”
“Fo’ shuah, boss. An’ I done hope dat Cap’n Jonas French done got some good news ob de kind dat we wanter heah.”
“Give us some speed and we’ll soon be alongside the sloop.”
The launch was soon going along at her usual speed of some six miles an hour, veering in shore somewhat to cross the course of the sloop. As they came to close quarters a voice from the other boat called:
“The news is all right, Alvarez.”
It was the voice of the florid-faced one, yet he, too, had changed almost as much as had the gentleman from Honduras. Captain French’s cheeks were no longer deep red in color. His skin had more of a bronze hue. As such changes do not occur naturally within a few days, it was evident that the captain must have employed some dye with much skill. Even the tint of his hair was changed.
“I have something to discuss with you, my friend,” replied Don Emilio. “I will come aboard for a while. Throw off your mainsheet and lie to, so that I can come alongside.”
Pedro slowed down the speed considerably. Don Emilio, with a skill that spoke of some practice, ran the launch around to leeward and up under the sloop’s quarter. The two craft touched lightly and at that instant Alvarez stepped aboard the sloop. Pedro, with his hand on the starboard wheel rope, eased gently away from the sailing sloop.
“Now run into the cove, Pedro,” called back Don Emilio. “Wait there until I come to you, unless danger threatens. If you see signs of trouble, act in whatever way you may need to act.”