“There must be a lot of people,” objected Roddy, “who know of it.”
“Fifty years ago they knew of it,” returned Inez eagerly, “but, remember, for half a century it has virtually ceased to exist. And besides, to my people there is nothing unusual in such a tunnel. You will find them connected with every fort the Spaniards built along this coast, and in Cuba, and on the Isthmus of Panama. All along the Spanish Main, wherever there is more than one fort, you will find them linked together by tunnels. They were intended to protect the soldiers from the fire of the enemy while they were passing from one position to another.”
The young people had been standing ankle-deep in the soft, moist sand. Now the girl moved toward her pony, but Roddy still stood looking out to sea. He appeared to have entirely forgotten that Inez was present, and to be intently regarding the waves that surged against the rocks, and burst into glittering walls of foam. At last, with a serious countenance, he came toward her.
“I shall tell the authorities at Porto Cabello,” he said, “that they ought to build a light-house on El Morro. At any rate, I will ask permission to make a survey. As they don’t intend to pay father for any of his light-houses, they are not likely to object. And as I don’t intend to build one, father can’t object. He will attribute my offer to mistaken zeal on behalf of the company. And he will consider it another evidence of the fact that I don’t understand his business. As soon as I find out anything definite I will let you know. And, by the way,” he asked, “how am I to let you know?”
Inez gave him the address of a fellow-exile from Venezuela, living in Willemstad, who was in secret communication with Pedro. Through this man letters would reach her safely.
She turned to him in farewell, and held out her hand.
“You must be very careful,” she said.
“Trust me!” answered Roddy heartily. “I promise you I’ll be as mysterious a double-dealer as any Venezuelan that ever plotted a plot. I admit,” he went on, “that when I came down here I was the frank, wide-eyed child, but, I assure you, I’ve reformed. Your people have made me a real Metternich, a genuine Machiavelli. Compared to me now, a Japanese business man is as honest and truth-loving as Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch.”
With a grin, Roddy invited the girl to sympathize with his effort to conceal the seriousness of their undertaking, but she regarded him doubtfully, and frowned. In his heart Roddy felt sorry for her. It hurt him to think that any one so charming could not accept his theory, that the only way to treat a serious matter was with flippancy. But the girl undeceived him.
“You don’t understand me,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to be careful to protect our interests. I meant you to be careful of yourself. If anything were to happen to you through this—” She hesitated and looked away from him toward the sea. “Do you imagine,” she demanded, “that it is easy for me to ask what I am asking of you? I know I have no right to do it. I know the only possible excuse for me is that I am not asking it for myself, but for my father—although, of course, that is asking it for myself.”