“Cocos Island?” murmured Teresa. “I never heard of any treasure on Cocos Island. That was just my hard luck, Mr. Tobin, or maybe I am thick.”
“Not thick, Miss Fernandez. For fast work you have me stopped. You wouldn’t be so apt to hear this treasure dope over on the Atlantic side. Leave the proposition to me. As a fixer, I’m good.”
Jerry Tobin carried the shiny suitcase into the lower hall. Teresa had a farewell glimpse of the devoted Mr. Mike. He was manipulating a cocktail shaker and patiently listening to the sorrows of a stranger who clung to the bar like a limpet to a reef.
While they drove through the city and into a suburb of trim lawns and bungalows, Jerry Tobin was taciturn. Teresa felt grateful for it. For the time she had ceased to fret and suffer. Quietude enfolded her. Through troubled waters and muddy, her pilgrimage had led her to a haven. She was tolerant of the faults and follies of mankind as she had known them on land and sea. God’s grace might visit the heart of a Mr. Mike or a Jerry Tobin as well as the heart of a priest. Saints or sinners, who was she to condemn, a woman who had yet to cleanse her own soul of stain?
Jerry Tobin marched her into a wide-roofed bungalow on the side of a green hill. A woman came forward to meet them. She was slight and plain-featured, insignificant to the eye. To Jerry Tobin she was the Colleen Bawn. He kissed her like a knight paying homage to a lady love. The Jerry Tobin, boss of The Broadway Front, was unknown inside this threshold.
His wife saw the slender girl who waited hesitant, uncertain of her welcome. Mary Tobin took her hands as she said:
“Jerry ’phoned me you were a lady and a darling, Miss Fernandez, and I would love to have you in the house. Once in a while the lump of a man says something real sensible. Now run away, Jerry, and leave us two women alone. You have done your bit for to-night.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE INTRUDER FROM ECUADOR
The voice of Señor Ramon Bazán cracked with excitement as he cried out, from the bridge of the Valkyrie: