"Well, Mr. Torres," he said. "I am sorry that I have no cards about me, but my name is Chutney."
The Portuguese softly whispered the name once or twice. Then, without further questioning, he offered Guy a cigar, and lit one himself.
Manuel Torres proved to be quite an interesting companion, and gave Guy a vivid account of the wonders of the fair.
As they went below at dinner time he pointed out on the corner of the dock a great stack of wooden boxes.
"Those are mine," he said. "They contain iron and steel implements for the natives and Arabs."
"They look like rifle cases," Guy remarked carelessly; and, looking at the Portuguese as he spoke, he fancied that the dark face actually turned gray for an instant. In a moment they were seated at the table, and the brief occurrence was forgotten.
All that afternoon they steamed on across the gulf, overhead the blue and cloudless sky, beneath them waters of even deeper blue, and at sunset the yellow coast line of the African continent loomed up from the purple distance.
Guy had been dozing under an awning most of the afternoon, but now he came forward eagerly to get his first glimpse of eastern Africa.
To his great disappointment, the captain refused to land.
It was risky, he said, to make a landing at night, and it would be dark when they entered the harbor. They must lie at anchor till morning.