He got up, as if to go, but Clare stopped him.
“You will come back as soon as you know something more and tell me what to do.”
Richter made an apologetic gesture. “That will be impossible. I ran some risk in coming now and leave Santa Brigida to-night in a fishing boat. You will stay in this house, as if you expect your father back, until you hear from him. He will send you instructions when he lands.”
Then the kitchen door across the patio opened and a bucket clinked. Richter stepped back into the shadow and Clare looked round as an indistinct figure crossed the tiles. When she looked back Richter had gone and she heard the splash of water. She sat still until the servant went away and then sank down limply in her chair. She was left alone and unprotected except for old Lucille, in a foreign town where morals were lax and license was the rule. The few English and Americans whose help she might have asked regarded her with suspicion, and it looked as if her father would be unable to send for her.
This was daunting but it was not the worst. Richter had vaguely hinted at Kenwardine’s business, which was obviously mysterious. She saw where his hints led, but she would not follow up the clue. Her father had been ruined by Brandon, and her heart was filled with anger, in which she found it some relief to indulge. Dick had long been their enemy and thought her a thief, while the possibility that he was justified in the line he had taken made matters worse. If she was the daughter of a man dishonored by some treason against his country, she could not marry Dick. She had already refused to do so, but she did not want to be logical. It was simpler to hate him as the cause of her father’s downfall. The latter had always indulged her, and now she understood that he would land in Brazil penniless, or at least impoverished. Since he was accustomed to extravagance, it was painful to think of what he might suffer.
Then she began to speculate about Richter’s visit. He had come at some risk and seemed sorry for her, but he had urged her to stay in the house, as if she expected her father to return. This could be of no advantage to the latter, and she wondered whether the man had meant to make use of her to divert suspicion from himself and his friends. It seemed uncharitable to think so, but she was very bitter and could trust nobody.
After a time she got calm, and remembering that she had her own situation to consider, counted the money in the bag. It was not a large sum, but with economy might last for a few weeks, after which she must make some plans. She was incapable of grappling with any fresh difficulty yet, but she must brace her courage and not break down, and getting up with a resolute movement she went into the house.
On the morning after his fall, Dick came to his senses in a shaded room. He heard a shutter rattle as the warm breeze flowed in, and noted a flickering patch of light on the wall, but found with some annoyance that he could not see it well. His head was throbbing and a bandage covered part of his face. His side was painful too, and he groaned when he tried to move.
“Where am I?” he asked a strange man, who appeared beside his bed, and added in an injured tone: “It looks as if I’d got into trouble again.”
“You had a narrow escape,” the other answered soothingly. “You cut your head badly and broke two of your ribs when you fell down the steamer’s hold. Now you’re in hospital, but you’re not to talk.”