“How did you get in?” she asked.
Richter smiled. “You have forgotten that Herr Kenwardine gave me a key.”
“I didn’t know he had,” Clare answered. “But won’t you sit down?”
He moved a chair to a spot where his white clothes were less conspicuous, though Clare noted that he did so carelessly and not as if he wished to hide himself. Then he put a small linen bag on the table.
“This is some money that belongs to Herr Kenwardine; you may find it useful. It is not good to be without money in a foreign town.”
Clare looked at him with alarm. He was fat and generally placid, but his philosophical good humor was not so marked as usual.
“Then you have heard from my father?”
“Yes. I have a cablegram. It was sent in a roundabout way through other people’s hands and took some time to reach me. Herr Kenwardine left Kingston last night.”
“But there is no boat yet.”
Richter nodded. “He is not coming to Santa Brigida. I do not think that he will come back at all.”