Desmond understood him, and though he had driven the Palestrina mercilessly day after day under the uttermost pressure her boilers would stand he was satisfied. He had not thought it worth while to mention how they had shaken every rag of canvas out while the yacht rolling viciously and shivering in every plate swept along with the spray-clouds flying over her before the big trade breeze combers, or the more arduous days when, while the firemen gasped beneath an almost intolerable heat, they still drove her south at topmost speed over an oily blazing sea across the line. He also fancied he knew what Ormsgill wished to ask him, and a trace of uneasiness crept into his face as he proceeded somewhat hastily.
"Well," he said, "when we got the anchor down I heard that the fighting was over and the troops were coming back again. Somebody told me they had a white prisoner who had evidently been encouraging the rebels, and it seemed to me advisable to set out up country on a shooting trip. There was a rather capable boy among those I hired, and he hadn't much difficulty in making friends with one of the camp followers or carriers when we came up with the troops. After that we followed their track, keeping about a league away from them for almost a week, and I sent you two messages. I suppose you never got them?"
"No," said Ormsgill. "I almost think it's evident that somebody else did."
Desmond made a little sign of concurrence. "The boy probably sold us, or your friend Dom Clemente was too clever for him. One could fancy that is a very capable man. Anyway, while I was considering how we could arrange to get you off we went to sleep last night in a belt of grass. I took the precaution of sending two sentries out, and I don't know yet why they didn't warn me, but when I awakened early this morning there was a white officer standing over me. As he had several black soldiers with him and we were evidently at his mercy I came along with him. I don't think there was any other course open to me."
"You have done what you could. You brought me no message from Las Palmas?"
Desmond, who once more appeared uneasy, sat silent for a moment or two. Then he leaned forward a trifle with a flush in his face.
"I don't know how you'll take it, but, as a matter of fact, I did," he said. "I brought a letter which Mrs. Ratcliffe gave me, and I believe there was another from Miss Ratcliffe inside it. Unfortunately, one of your friends here confiscated it not long ago as well as every other scrap of paper in my possession."
"They sent me no word when you left Las Palmas before," said Ormsgill with a portentous quietness, though there were signs of tension in his face. Then he straightened himself suddenly. "You are keeping something back. It concerns Ada?"
"It does, and I'm particularly sorry your friends seized that letter. This is an affair I should greatly have preferred to leave in Mrs. Ratcliffe's hands. She"—and Desmond made a little vague gesture—"is a lady of considerable ability and has no doubt explained the thing much more satisfactorily than I could do."
"Go on," said Ormsgill with sharp incisiveness.