As I stood under the shade of the verandah, admiring this sea beauty, the gig came foaming round under her stern, propelled by four oarsmen, and with a white-clad figure in the stern-sheets, and headed toward the wharf, alongside a flight of steps in which she presently ranged, and hooked on. Then the white-clad figure in the stern-sheets rose and, leisurely climbing the steps to the level of the wharf, revealed itself as that of a man somewhat over middle height, broadly built, with hair, beard, and moustache of raven black, and a skin tanned almost to the colour of that of a mulatto by long exposure to sea-breezes and a tropical sun. His age I roughly estimated as somewhere about forty.
With a swaggering sea roll he came striding across the wide arid space between the wharf side and the buildings, puffing at a big black cigar as he walked, and glancing about him curiously, as though he could not quite understand the utter quietude and deserted aspect of the place. Apparently, however, this was not sufficiently marked to arouse his suspicion, for he betrayed no hesitation as he made straight for the house under the broad verandah of which I stood in full view, watching his approach. As he came within speaking distance he slightly raised his broad-brimmed pugaree-bound Panama hat, for a moment, exclaiming, in execrable Spanish:
“Good-morning, señor! what has happened that I see nobody about? And where is Señor Morillo? I would have speech with him.”
Raising my hat in reply, I answered, in the same language: “I deeply regret to inform you, señor, that Morillo is indisposed—down with a slight attack of fever, in fact; and, as for the rest, they are away in the bush on the other side, whither they have gone to help bring in the cauffle which is due to arrive this afternoon. But will you not step in out of the sun?”
“Thanks!” answered the stranger, ascending the gallery steps. “I am sorry to hear of my friend Morillo’s indisposition. A slight attack of fever, I think you said. Is he too ill, think you, to talk business? If not, you will perhaps have the extreme kindness to tell him that Captain Lenoir of La Belle Estelle has arrived and would like to see him.”
“Assuredly I will, señor,” I answered politely. “Pray step inside here, out of the heat, and be seated, while I convey your message to Señor Morillo.”
So saying, I flung open the door of an inner room, and stood aside for him to enter.
Quite unsuspectingly he stalked in through the open door, removed his hat and laid it upon the table, flung himself into a basket-chair, and, withdrawing an enormous silk pocket-handkerchief from his pocket, proceeded to mop the streaming perspiration from his forehead. At the same moment I whipped a loaded pistol from my pocket, aimed straight at his left eye, and, as he stared at me in amazement, said—
“You are a dead man, Captain Lenoir, if you move so much as a muscle. You are my prisoner, señor. No,”—as I saw by the expression of his eye that he had it in his mind to suddenly spring upon and disarm me—“not a movement, I pray you. To attempt what you are thinking of would be fatal, for upon your slightest motion I will pull the trigger and blow your brains out; I will, as surely as that you are sitting there.” Then, slightly raising my voice, I called—
“Collins, bring your party into this room; and do not forget to bring along that length of ratline that I told you to have ready.”