Osborne glanced over his shoulder. Instantly the individual in question feigned interest in the smoke issuing from the steamer's funnel, until the effort of craning his neck was too much of a physical strain, and he again looked curiously at the two naval officers.
He was a man of about thirty, full-faced and of a sleek and oily complexion. His dark chestnut hair was closely cropped. He sported a tuft of side-whiskers on each cheek and a heavy moustache. His costume consisted of a dirty white shirt, ill-cut trousers, and straw-plaited shoes round his waist was a gaudily coloured scarf that might or might not have hidden a knife. On the back of his head he wore a broad-rimmed straw hat with a band of vivid yellow, into which was stuck a bunch of peacock's feathers.
"A picturesque-looking villain!" commented Webb.
"A typical Spaniard, that's all," Osborne reassured him. "We'll have a few dozen of 'em crowding round directly we land, you know. Every man jack will offer his services as a guide, philosopher, and friend."
Apparently the fellow thought it worth while to take time by the forelock, since his interest in the British officers was reciprocated. Removing his hands from his pockets he came forward, and giving an elaborate sweep with his hat he tendered a dirty piece of pasteboard.
"My card, señores!" he exclaimed. "At your service. Show you everyzing in Algeciras. Blow me tight, I will."
The last sentence, of which he seemed particularly proud, had been picked up from a British Tommy. The Spaniard considered it to be the hall-mark of correct English.
Osborne took the proffered card. On it was printed: "Alfonzo y Guzman Perez, Qualified Guide and Interpreter".
"We don't require a guide," said Osborne.
Señor Perez smiled benignly.