“Very well, then. In all seriousness, I am as uneasy about Cary as you are. I still take it for granted that he will turn up with some perfectly good alibi. This feeling is, I presume, because he is such a husky, two-fisted beggar with a level head on his shoulders. No greenhorn, either—accustomed to knocking about strange ports at all hours. But, confound him, he hasn’t turned up. You can’t get away from that, can you? And I don’t know where to look if I go buzzing around Cartagena for the hour or two before the ship sails. I did call up the central police office soon after breakfast. My Spanish is bad and a congenital idiot was on the other end of the line. I got nothing at all.”
“These police of Cartagena,” sighed Teresa. “They are a bunch of nuts.”
“Rather well put,” agreed McClement, who was no stranger to the Spanish Main.
“Is there anybody that hates Mr. Cary?” she asked, expressing the fear that had been lurking in her troubled soul. “I am foolish, maybe, but I cannot make myself forget that Colonel Fajardo. I dreamed about him last night, a terrible dream. I woke up crying. Do you believe in dreams, Mr. McClement?”
“In this instance I don’t really have to,” said he, rather glad to have her broach this sinister topic. He had been reluctant to alarm her.
“Then you know something about this Colonel Fajardo that is not a dream?” exclaimed Teresa. “It has to do with Mr. Cary?”
“Possibly. You are a sensible young woman, in spots, Miss Fernandez. And I can’t imagine your kicking your heels in hysterics. Besides, my room is too cluttered up for that sort of thing. I warned Cary yesterday afternoon to keep a weather eye lifted for this saturnine Comandante of the Port. He was drinking hard and the liquor seemed to make him wicked instead of drunk. You know what I mean? I got the impression that he had a provocation. You threw him over, I believe. I was looking on, last voyage and this. The emotions of Colonel Fajardo were quite obvious.”
“I should say so,” exclaimed Teresa. “The whole ship knew he was daffy about me. And he is now jealous of Mr. Cary? He has plenty of reason to be so. I am proud to say it to you, Mr. McClement, that Richard Cary is much more to me than my life. You are his friend and I can tell you.”
“Mutual, I should say,” was the comment. “You bowled him clean off his pins. The splendor of youth and romance! I am envious. It seems a frightful pity to upset you, my dear girl, but I do suspect this Fajardo blackguard. Cary laughed at me. Piffle, melodrama, and all that.”
“Yes, Mr. McClement, he would laugh. But I saw how that Colonel Fajardo looked at me when I told him I would not marry him. I swear to you, I crossed myself and said my prayers. And I saw him looking at Mr. Cary. Ah, now you understand why I had awful dreams last night.”