The man with the knife was a moment recovering his footing, and then he moved forward, half-crouching, with a cat-like gait. The veins rose swollen on Lister's forehead, but he stood still, and his big red hand tightened savagely on the neck of the heavy vessel, which held a quart or two. The tinkle of the mandolin had ceased abruptly, and for a few moments there was not a sound in the little patio. Then there was a sharp command, and the man with the knife slunk backward, as a figure moved quietly out of the shadow beneath the archway. It was the man who had questioned Lister, and he laid his hand upon the flask the latter held.
"With permission I will take it from you," he said. "It is, I think, convenient that you go back to your steamer."
Lister fancied that he was right, and when three or four men who had now come out from the lighted room made way for them he followed his companion out through the archway. The latter called to a man in dilapidated white uniform, and they proceeded together to where a boat was waiting. They put Lister on board her, and stood still a minute or two watching while a couple of negroes rowed him off to the Palestrina. Then one of them laughed.
"There are many fools in this world but one has perhaps no cause to pity them," he said. "It is as a rule their friends they bring to grief."
Twenty minutes later he called at Dom Clemente's residence, and was not exactly pleased when he was shown into the presence of Benicia Figuera.
"My father is on board the yacht. You have come about the Englishman you have been watching?" she said.
The man made a little deprecatory gesture. "It is not permissible to contradict the señorita."
Benicia laughed. "It would not be worth while, my friend. You will leave your message."
"It is a report for Dom Clemente," and again the man spread out his hands. One could have fancied he felt it necessary to excuse himself for such an answer.
"Then," said the girl, "it is, as I think you know, quite safe with me."