Two hours later Neddy Jerome received another cablegram. It was from John Stuart Webster and read as follows:
Hold job ninety days at latest may be back before. If satisfactory cable.
Again Mr. Jerome had recourse to the most powerful expletive at his command. “Henrietta knew he was going to cable and beat the old sour-dough to it,” he soliloquized. He was wrapped in profound admiration of her cunning for as much as five minutes; then he indicted this reply to his victim:
Time, tide and good jobs wait for no man. Sorry. Job already filled by better man.
When John Stuart Webster received that cablegram the following morning, he cursed bitterly—not because he had lost the best job that had ever been offered him, but because he had lost through playing a good hand poorly. He hated himself for his idiocy.
CHAPTER XVIII
FOR fully an hour after retiring John Stuart Webster slept the deep, untroubled sleep of a healthy, unworried man; then one of the many species of “jigger” which flourish just north and south of the equator crawled into bed with him and promptly proceeded to establish its commissary on the inner flank of the Websterian thigh, where the skin is thin and the blood close to the surface. As a consequence, Mr. Webster awoke suddenly, obliterated the intruder and got out of bed for the purpose of anointing the injured spot with alcohol—which being done, an active search of the bed resulted in the discovery of three more jiggers and the envelopment of John Stuart Webster's soul in the fogs of apprehension. Wide awake, he sat on the edge of the bed, massaging his toes and wondering what he should do about it. From a contemplation of his own case his mind wandered to Dolores Ruey. He wondered if the jiggers were picking on her, too—poor girl! Strange that Billy hadn't warned him against these infernal insects—probably it was because Billy resided at El Buen Amigo, where, for some mysterious reason, the jigger was not.
“'Tis an evil land, filled with trouble,” he mused as he lighted a cigarette. “I wish Bill were here to advise me. He's been long enough in this country to know the lay of the ground and all the government officials. He ought to be able to straighten this deal out and assure the higher-ups that I'm not butting in on their political affairs. But Bill's up-country and here I am under surveillance and unable to leave the hotel to talk it over with Andrew Bowers, the only other white expert I know of in town. And by the way, they're after Andrew, too! I wonder what for.”