“Is thy name, Kingsboora?” he asked, “and has oor Mr. ’Arker bin ’ere?”
“Yes,” Hilary said; “he’s been gone from here an hour and a half.”
“Dostha know which way ’e went?”
“No.”
“Oor Captain Cary sent me to find oor Mr. ’Arker. Tha see, there’s a norther coomin’ on. We’re in the Pathfinder, sailing. We don’t want to wait all night, tha see. Did ’e go back into the town, choom?”
“He went back to his ship, I think,” Hilary said. “You must have crossed him.”
“That’s it, tha see,” the man said. “ ’E didna coom by t’reet way. Look, choom, if ’e coom ’ere again, will tha tell ’im to coom aboard? Ma neem is Dorney. Now, lad,” he added to the driver, with pantomime instead of Spanish, “tak’ me back to Jib and Foresail, will tha?”
The driver turned his caleche and carried Mr. Dorney away into the darkness. When the wheels were almost out of hearing, Hilary suddenly remembered.
“We were asses,” he said. “We might have gone into Las Palomas with him.”
“I was thinking that,” she said. “But we couldn’t have gone, not knowing about Ramón. I hope that Mr. Harker has not met with any trouble on his way.”