“You’ve hit it right off,” said Harper.
“If you feel inclined to tell me anything more I’ll listen.”
Appleby, who resented the man’s tone as much as he was astonished at it, was about to observe that he felt no inclination to trespass further on his host’s patience, but he fancied there was a warning in Nettie Harding’s eyes, and Harper did not wait for him. He at once launched into an ornate account of the affray, and discreetly mentioned their present difficulties. Harding listened gravely, and then turned to Appleby.
“I have a Spanish sugar grower to visit, and you will excuse me, but I would like to see you again before you leave the hotel,” he said. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be quite safe for you to take the road just now.”
He went out with his daughter, and when they were in the patio the girl looked at him. “You have got to do something for them,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” said Harding, with a little nod, “I am going to. As it happens, it will suit me.”
It was an hour later when they came back, and as the light was fading Harding bade the landlord bring a lamp before he sat down, and turned to Appleby and Harper, who were somewhat anxiously waiting him.
“You are scarcely likely to know anything about growing or crushing sugar, Mr. Broughton?” he said.
“No, sir. Nothing whatever.”
“Thank you!” said Harding, and glanced with a little smile at Harper. “I guess it’s not necessary to ask you.”