"Yes; I saw him. I think he was with the officer of the port-guard."
"But what is he doing here? And why did he step back when I turned to you?"
"I don't know," said Wyndham. "The thing's interesting."
Marston agreed, but he could suggest no explanation and they talked about Don Luis. In the morning, when the narrow streets got hot, they went to the marina where the sea breeze blew among the pepper-trees and palms. After lounging for a time on a shady bench, Wyndham indicated some carpenters at work behind the mole.
"It's too early to meet our agent. Let's see what those fellows are doing," he proposed.
They crossed a belt of shingle and found the carpenters mending a big open boat. Two or three other boats were drawn up close by and planks lay about. When Marston stopped, a man who had been sitting in the shade got up and turned to him with a careless smile. It was Pepe, the negro pilot.
"Hallo!" said Marston. "Have you given up your job?"
"Not for long. One likes a change," the other replied.
In the meantime, Wyndham examined the boats. He knew the type, which was used for taking off cargo to vessels that did not come into the harbor. For their length, they carried a big load and were generally propelled by four men who pulled the heavy oars double-banked. Their flat bottom adapted them for use in shallow water.
"Are you going to buy the candrays?" Wyndham asked.