“I think not. It might look as if we were afraid of being overheard.”
Dick held the match to his cigarette for a moment or two before he threw it away, and as he walked past noted that Don Sebastian had come out on deck. Indeed, he thought the man had seen his face and was satisfied, because he turned back into the room. Dick went down a ladder to the deck below, where he stopped and thought over what he had heard. It was plain that some precautions had been taken against the risk of capture, but he could not understand why Don Sebastian had been told about them.
By and by he thought he would speak to the purser, whom he knew, and went down the alleyway that led to his office. The door was hooked back, but the passage was narrow and a fat Spanish lady blocked the entrance. She was talking to the purser and Dick saw that he must wait until she had finished. A man stood a few yards behind her, unscrewing a flute, and as a folded paper that looked like music stuck out of his pocket he appeared to belong to the band.
“But it is Tuesday you arrive at Palomas!” the lady exclaimed.
“About then,” the purser answered in awkward Castilian. “We may be a little late.”
“But how much late?”
“I cannot tell. Perhaps a day or two.”
“At dinner the captain said——”
“Just so. But he was speaking generally without knowing all the arrangements.”
Dick could not see into the office, but heard the purser open a drawer and shuffle some papers, as if he wanted to get rid of his questioner.