“Yes,” he said. “I know some people here. I have not the pleasure of Sir Arthur’s acquaintance.”
He would have turned away at this point, but the man pulled a card from his pocket and presented it to him. Guy glanced it over with interest:
C. Manuel Torres,
Trader at Aden and Berbera.
“A vile Portuguese slave-hunter,” he thought to himself.
“Well, Mr. Torres” he said. “I am sorry that I have no cards about me, but my name in 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.