“Who are you?” they cried, seeing a stranger.
“If you will be so kind as to let me pass, I shall be most happy to explain,” Leonard answered, pushing his way through the throng.
“Who is that?” cried Pereira in coarse, thick tones. “Bring him here.”
“There, you hear him—let us through, friends,” said Leonard, “let us through!”
Thus adjured the throng opened a path, and Leonard and Otter passed down it, many suspicious eyes scanning them as they went.
“A greeting to you, senor,” said Leonard when they had emerged in front of the verandah.
“Curse your greeting! Who in Satan’s name are you?”
“A humble member of your honourable profession,” said Leonard coolly, “come to pay his respects and do a little business.”
“Are you? You don’t look it. You look like an Englishman. And who is that abortion, pray?” and he pointed to Otter. “I believe that you are spies, and, by the Saints, if you are, I am the man to deal with you!”
“This is a likely story,” said Leonard laughing, “that one man and a black dog should venture into the headquarters of gentlemen like you, not being of the cloth. But I think there is a noble gentleman among you—I mean the Senor Xavier—who can vouch for me. Did he not send a note to Captain Pierre, whose dhow lies in the harbour yonder, hailing from Madagascar? Well, Captain Pierre has the honour of accepting his invitation and arrives here, not without difficulty. Now he begins to think that he would have done better to stick to his ship.”