"What I don't understand," he said, "is how they come to pitch on 'The Laurels.' It ain't the kind of place you'd think a gentleman would take a fancy to."
"It suited this party right enough," returned the little man with a chuckle. "All he wanted was a house facing the water. He didn't seem particular about anything else, provided he could get that."
I felt my heart begin to beat a shade quicker, for a sudden conviction that they were speaking about de Roda had flashed instantly across my mind. The landlord's next remark put the matter almost beyond question.
"Well, I suppose, being a foreigner, he ain't used to comfort. He'll find it precious damp though, if we happen to have another summer like the last."
"That's his look-out," returned the other. "He saw the place before he took it, so I don't see that he'll have any call to grumble. Anyhow, he's paid us six months' rent in advance."
"What part o' the world d'you reckon he comes from, Mr. Watson?" enquired the boatman. "Some says he's a Frenchy, but it seems to me he's a bit too yaller in the face for that. More like some kind of a Eytalian to my way o' thinkin'."
"He's neither," said Mr. Watson decisively. "He's a Spaniard—the same as those fellers who bring round the onions."
"A Spaniard, is he?" ejaculated the landlord. "Fancy that now! Could you make out what he said?"
Mr. Watson sucked in his lip. "After a fashion," he replied. "It wasn't too easy his first visit, but the second time he come along he brought his niece with him, and it was she that did most of the talking. I didn't have any trouble with her—none at all. Speaks English as well as you or me."
"That's a fact," put in the boatman, nodding his head. "She was down to my place the day before yesterday looking after something to go on the water in. A fine young lady she is too, and a rare 'and at sailing a boat."