“I think it very unlikely, Timothy.”
“Ah, to blazes with the pretty face of her! When shall we have the news of you?”
“Every day at sundown. Let the pinnace be at the mole. If not that, stand off for a signal. We will arrange it to-morrow night. You shall come ashore and dine with me when I know how the land lies. To-night I must go alone, old friend.”
He assented with great reluctance. The men had already manned the lifeboat and were waiting for me. We lay, perhaps, a full mile from the port, and had no pilot other than the Admiralty chart; but the kindness of the night befriended us, and when the half of an hour had passed, I stood safe and well in the streets of Villa do Porto and my Japanese servant was at my side. This would have been about the hour of nine o’clock. Such life as the little place can show was then at its height, and I confess not without its charm. Had I been asked to describe the scene, I would have said that it reminded me not a little of the Italian lakes. Shrubs and trees and flowers before the houses spoke in their turn of the tropics; the air was heavy with the perfume of a Southern garden; the atmosphere moist and penetrating, but always warm. Knowing absolutely nothing of the place, I turned to an officer of the Customs for guidance. Where was the best hotel, and how did one reach it? His answer astonished me beyond all expectation.
“The best hotel, señor,” he said, “is the Villa San Jorge. Am I wrong in supposing that you are the Englishman for whom General Fordibras is waiting?”
I concealed my amazement with what skill I could, and said that I was delighted to hear that General Fordibras had returned from Europe. If the intimation alarmed me, I would not admit as much to myself. These people, then, knew of my movements since I had quitted Dieppe? They expected me to visit Santa Maria! And this was as much as to say that Joan Fordibras had been their instrument, though whether a willing or an unconscious instrument I could not yet determine. The night would show me—the night whose unknown fortunes I had resolved to confront, let the penalty be what it might.
“I will go up to the Villa at once,” I said to the Customs officer. “If a carriage is to be had, let them get it ready without loss of time.”
He replied that the Villa San Jorge lay five miles from the town, on the slope of the one inconsiderable mountain which is the pride of the island of Santa Maria. It would be necessary to ride, and the General had sent horses. He trusted that I would bring my servants, as they would be no embarrassment to his household. The cordiality of the message, indeed, betrayed an anxiety which carried its own warning. I was expected at the house and my host was in a hurry. Nothing could be more ominous.
“Does the General have many visitors from Europe?” I asked the officer.
“A great many sometimes,” was the reply; “but he is not always here, señor. There are months together when we do not see him—so much the worse for us.”