“Well,” Webster remarked to Dolores as he held out his cup for more tea, “if I'm not the original Tumble Tom, I hope I may never see the back of my neck.”
“Do you attach any importance to Don Juan's story?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes, but not so much as Don Juan does. However, to be forewarned is to be forearmed.” He sighed. “I am the innocent bystander,” he explained, “and I greatly fear I have managed to snarl myself up in a Sobrantean political intrigue, when I haven't the slightest interest either way. However, that's only one more reason why I should finish my work here and get back to Denver.”
“But how did all this happen, Mr. Webster?”
“Like shooting fish in a dry lake, Miss Ruey,” Webster replied, and related to her in detail the story of his adventure with the Sobrantean assassins in Jackson Square and his subsequent meeting with Andrew Bowers aboard La Estrellita.
Dolores laughed long and heartily as Webster finished his humorous recital. “Oh, you're such a very funny man,” she declared. “Billy told me God only made one Jack Webster and then destroyed the mold; I believe Billy is right. But do tell me what became of this extraordinary and unbidden guest.”
“The night the steamer arrived in port, Billy and Don Juan came out in a launch to say 'Hello,' so I seized upon the opportunity to tell Andrew to jump overboard and swim to the launch. Gave him a little note to Billy—carried it in his mouth—instructing Billy to do the right thing by him—and Billy did it. I don't know what Andrew is up to and I don't care. Where I was raised we let every man roll his own hoop. All I hope is that they don't shoot Andrew. If they do, I fear I'll weep. He's certainly a skookum lad. Do you know, Miss Ruey, I love anybody that can impose on me—make a monkey out of me, in fact—and make me like it?”
“That's so comforting,” she remarked dryly. Webster looked at her sharply, suspiciously; her words were susceptible of a dual interpretation. Her next sentence, however, dissipated this impression. “Because it confirms what I told you this afternoon when I read your palm,” she added.
“You didn't know how truly you spoke when you referred to the dark man that had crossed my path. He's uncomfortably real—drat him!”
“Then you are really concerned?”