“I succeeded in reaching the concrete ramp, and hid behind it,” Clairbold continued, as if it was just another daily task set by the Ohio School of Detection. “After a while Gomez and Miss Spence came on deck, and I heard what they said. He told her he would leave Havana at nine o’clock tomorrow night, drop his cargo at Pigeon Key, and come back here. She arranged to meet him, and then she left the boat. She drove away in the Cadillac. After further delay, another car arrived and four men, obviously Cubans, went on board.”
“What were you doing all this time?” I asked, staring at him.
“I had dug myself a kind of fox-hole in the sand,” he explained, “and buried myself. I kept a newspaper I had with me over my face so I could breathe, see and hear. It was an idea I got from the chapter in my course on watching suspected people in sandy districts.” He brooded for a moment, said: “It’s a very satisfactory course. I—I recommend it.”
I blew out my cheeks. “It certainly thinks of everything,” I said.
“The boat pulled away from the ramp and headed for Havana. I gave it time to clear and then I came back here to report,” he concluded.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said.
He looked up. “I—I hope you’re satisfied, Mr. Cain,” he said anxiously.
“I’ll say I am,” I told him. “Now look, young fellow, you ought to be more careful. This is a tough mob, and you’re taking too many risks. You’ve done a swell job, but I don’t want to lose you.”
He smiled. “Oh, I can take care of myself, Mr. Cain,” he assured me. “I have learned boxing, and I can shoot.”
I looked him over and wondered where he had left his muscles. Probably at home, I thought. He certainly hadn’t brought them with him. “Did you learn boxing and shooting through the mail too?” I asked gently.