Bad luck this time! He must have come and gone. His chair was empty. She went to the foot of the stairs and beckoned her friend, the second steward. Mr. Cary had not been down, he told her, nor had he ordered breakfast sent to his room. A hearty man who had never missed a meal before! Perhaps he felt under the weather. The climate of Cartagena was trying for a stranger, and Mr. Cary had worked all day in the sun. The amiable young second steward decided to find out for himself.
Teresa hovered near a doorway of the promenade deck. She was anxious for Richard Cary’s health, but it would not do to show it. She had been careless already, perhaps, in inviting gossip. It was unwise for a woman compelled to live in a ship. Busy-bodies were eager to carry tales to the captain’s ears. The code of behavior was rigid and she had always avoided any appearance of fondness for a shipmate. She had treated them all alike and her record was clear of the breath of scandal.
When the second steward returned from his errand to the officers’ quarters, his face told her that something was wrong. She was afraid to hear news of an illness. Her heart pounded. The words flew to her lips:
“Is it the fever? Has the doctor been up to see him?”
The second steward shook his head mysteriously. He motioned Teresa into the library where they could be alone. With an effort she masked her agitation. She could be a clever actress. Richard Cary was merely another friend of hers.
“Vamoosed! Flown away!” exclaimed the second steward. “Mr. Cary is not in the ship. His bed wasn’t slept in last night, Miss Fernandez. He was supposed to go on watch at midnight. Now what do you think of that?”
“He is not in the ship?” she echoed, trying to keep her voice hushed. “Who told you so?”
“The third officer. A nice kid. He’s all fussed up about it. Mr. Cary is a regular tin god to him. You know what the rest of ’em are saying. Mr. Cary hit the beach last night and got soused. His first trip down this way, and the Cartagena rum slipped one over on him. He’ll turn up with a head on him before the ship sails. It will sure put him in wrong with the old man.”
“Who dares say these wicked things?” blazed Teresa. “Mr. Cary is not a common sailor bum. Thank you very much, Frank. If you find out any more, please come and tell me. It is very strange.”
The second steward was inclined to linger and discuss it, but Teresa’s manner dismissed him. She had no intention of betraying her emotions. This made it difficult to press her inquiries, to attempt to discover the facts in the case. Her head was throbbing. She felt tired. In order to be alone a few minutes she went to her room and bolted the door.