"They have left all their tools about," he said. "Shall we call the boys and put the truck on board?"
"I think not," Grahame replied. "It's the marine engineer's privilege to make as much mess as he likes, and he generally resents its being cleaned up without his permission. Besides, their leaving the things suggests that the job's not finished."
They pushed off the dinghy and boarded the steamer. The tide had flowed round her, but she would not float for an hour or two, and Walthew, sitting on the rail, glanced down the harbor. It was now very dark, but the water had a phosphorescent gleam. The Enchantress's cable was marked by lambent spangles, and there was a flicker of green fire along the tramp's dark side. Her riding-lights tossed as she swung with the languid swell, and away at the harbor mouth two bright specks pierced the dark. A small gunboat had anchored at dusk, and as the fort had fired a salute she was evidently a foreigner. Walthew felt curious about her nationality, and wondered why she lay where she commanded the entrance instead of mooring near the town. Grahame, however, did not seem disturbed, and they presently sat down to a game of chess in the saloon.
Although the ports were open, it was very hot, and when the kerosene lamp flickered in the draughts an unpleasant smell filled the room. The men felt languid and their attention wandered from the dragging game. At last Walthew threw the pieces roughly into the box.
"You'd have seen what I was getting after with the bishop if you hadn't been thinking of something else," he said. "It's been a mighty long game; Mack ought to have come back."
Grahame nodded agreement, and they went out on deck. The town was quiet, and, so far as they could see, only one light burned in it, between the plaza and the alameda. Then an uproar broke out, the clamor reaching them distinctly over the night water. Grahame, running to the engine-room, shook the drowsy half-breed on watch and ordered him to stir the fires, which had been lighted and damped. Then he dropped over the rail into the dinghy with Walthew, and as soon as they jumped ashore they started for the plaza on a run.
"Sounds like a jamboree," Walthew said. "When things begin to hum you'll find Mack somewhere around; and that tramp captain looked as if he could get on a jag."
"He had a wicked eye," Grahame breathlessly agreed.
As they entered the plaza, a noisy crowd, which seemed to be getting larger rapidly, surged toward them. In the background the café Bolívar was still lighted, and close at hand a lamp burned at the top of a tall pole. For all that, it was difficult to make out anything except a mass of people pressing about a smaller group, and Grahame roughly flung two or three excited citizens aside before he could see what was going on. Then he was not surprised to note a party of three Britons retreating in good order before an obviously hostile mob. The tramp captain had lost his hat and his jacket was torn, but he carried a champagne bottle like a club, and his hot, red face had a pugnacious look. Macallister trailed the leg of a broken iron chair, and Watson seemed to have armed himself with part of the chair's back. He was hurling virulent epithets at the throng, while Macallister sang a sentimental ballad in an unsteady voice.
As Grahame and Walthew drew nearer, the crowd closed in as if to cut off the others' retreat, but a shout from Watson dominated the growing uproar.