“Thanks. I suppose you'll call for me in that launch to-morrow morning?”
“Surest thing you know, Jack. Good-night, old top.”
“Good-night, Billy. See you in the morning.” Don Juan Cafetéra swung the launch and headed back for the city. At Leber's little dock Billy stepped ashore, while Don Juan backed out into the dark bay again in order to avoid inquisitive visitors. Billy hastened to El Buen Amigo and returned presently with a bundle of clothes; at an agreed signal Don Juan kicked the launch into the dock again and Billy went aboard.
“Hat, shirt, necktie, duck suit, white socks, and shoes,” he whispered. “Climb into them, stranger.” Once more the launch backed out in the bay, where Webster's protégé dressed at his leisure, and Billy handed Don Juan a couple of pesos.
“Remember, John,” he cautioned the bibulous one as they tied up for the night, “nothing unusual happened to-night.”
“Divil a thing, Misther Geary. Thank you, sor,” the Gaelic wreck replied blithely and disappeared in the darkness, leaving Billy to guide the stranger to El Buen Amigo, where he was taken into the confidence of Mother Jenks and, on Billy's guarantee of the board bill, furnished with a room and left to his own devices.
John Stuart Webster came down the gangplank into Leber's launch hard on the heels of the port doctor.
“You young horse-thief,” he cried affectionately. “I believe it's the custom down this way for men to kiss each other. We'll dispense with that, but by——” He folded Billy in a paternal embrace, then held him at arm's length and looked him over.
“Lord, son,” he said, “you're as thin as a snake. I'll have to feed you up.”