Sunset found a quieting sea and a dying wind. The Valkyrie was on her course for Colon. After a while the second mate came up to relieve the captain and let him snatch a few hours of sleep. Richard Cary waited a moment. A sailor paused beside the wooden house in the bows. Upon the roof was mounted the bronze bell of the galleon Nuestra Señora del Rosario. The sailor pulled a cord and the ancient bell rang out the hour, dong-dong—dong-dong—dong-dong—dong-dong! Eight bells!
“All’s well and westward ho!” said Richard Cary, the sense of illusion stealing over him. “It’s still the same. Ships have changed, but men are the same. And the game is still worth playing.”
CHAPTER XV
IN THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY
Only to Mr. McClement, chief engineer of the Tarragona, had Teresa Fernandez made known her intention of leaving the ship at the end of the voyage. Never again did she wish to see the walls of Cartagena and the white moonlight in the plazas, or to hear the wind in the cocoanut palms and the bells in the church towers. The thoughtful McClement did not try to dissuade her. Convinced as she was that Richard Cary had been wickedly done to death, it was not a decision to be argued. Her plans were uncertain, she said. If she were fitted to earn a living ashore, she would not go to sea again. The sea made her sad.
She had a last talk with McClement the night before the ship was due at New York. It was a farewell, he suspected. Teresa had resolved to break all ties with the Tarragona and her shipmates.
“Will you let me look you up in New York?” he asked. “We might have dinner together, or something like that. If I can cheer you up a bit—”
“Thank you very much, Mr. McClement. I will let you know where to find me if I need you. On your next trip to Cartagena you may hear something—of how—of how it happened, but you will never find Mr. Cary.”
“I can’t be so cock-sure of that, Miss Fernandez. As I have insisted right along, a man like Dick Cary doesn’t vanish without a trace. Colonel Fajardo is the blighter for me to keep an eye on. He will be looking for you on the ship, won’t he? Hot after you again, I fancy. He may give himself away. He will be badly upset when he finds you have stayed in New York.”
“Do you truly expect to see Colonel Fajardo waiting on the wharf in Cartagena, Mr. McClement?” demanded Teresa. Her face was solemn, her dark eyes very large, her hands clasped. She was urged against her will to discover what this loyal friend might hold secluded in the secret places of his understanding. Sometimes he frightened her, he seemed so wise and penetrating and yet vouchsafed so little. To her tense question he replied, laying a hand on hers: