Columbine's gig rubbed against the landing steps and Wyndham and Marston lounged about the end of the mole. The sun had sunk behind a high, black range and the land-breeze had begun to blow in gentle gusts that crisped the greasy water and dropped again. When the crew were trimming ballast in the hold, a man shouted that some chain Wyndham had ordered had arrived, and he and Marston pulled the gig to the steps. After putting the chain on board, they strolled to the town, where they drank a glass of wine and bought a newspaper; and then went back to the mole. For the last few nights they had slept on board, but it was early in the evening and the top of the wall was cooler than the deck of the yacht. Besides, a Spanish liner was steering for the port and they waited to watch her passengers land.
Presently Wyndham looked up from the newspaper. "It's lucky we bought the Diario. It declares the report that the Sta Catalina mission was recently plundered is not confirmed."
"Isn't that Father Sebastian's station?" Marston asked.
Wyndham nodded. "A few mud huts, and a small, thatched church! Still, it belongs to a famous Order and pious folk no doubt sent gifts, because the Diario's remarks indicate that the Virgin's jewels were supposed to have been stolen. If this is true, the thing's significant. The most part of the people here are pretty staunch Catholics."
"But the newspaper states the report is not confirmed."
"It is not denied," said Wyndham, meaningly. "I imagine the Government had given the editor a hint. You see, the desecration of a church by negroes would rouse the citizens' feelings and lead to a popular demand for swift punishment. If the President complied, the Bat would know about it, and the republicans would lose the advantage of surprise. All the same, they must strike soon, because the Bat will now get ready."
"Then, why do you think he let his people rob the mission?"
"I don't think he did so. Perhaps some were too keen and got out of control; perhaps some meant to force Larrinaga to put him down. They're a treacherous lot and given to intrigue. However, there's another bit of news. The gunboat, Campeador, has gone into Anagas, damaged, after stranding, and will need extensive repairs. I expect this is true, because folks at Anagas could see the boat."
"It's important," Marston declared. "If the gunboat's damaged, Don Ramon can't use her to carry his troops. Still I suppose the Government tug could tow them along the coast on board the lighters. They are overhauling her at San Cristobal. Looks as if we had better find out when they'll finish the job."
Wyndham nodded. San Cristobal was some distance off; a small town with a good harbor, where there was a foundry and a coaling wharf. Yet it would be dangerous to make open inquiries about the tug or to visit the place, because Wyndham had grounds for imagining they were watched. Indeed, one of the port-guards was lounging near them. When a whistle screamed he looked up and saw the liner circle outside the mole. Foam broke about her side as the screw turned astern, a row of lights flashed into brightness, and big electric hatch lamps blazed up on deck. She stopped, the anchor splashed, and the doctor's noisy launch went off. Then the yellow flag came down and shore boats crowded about the ship.