He sat back in his chair and stared at me. His eyes were cold and cruel. He was not a man with whom I should have liked to deal. "Now who could have told you that?" He stared at me. "I know naught of you. If you have business to do with me, there's the store out front. I thought you was somebody else when I told them to put you back to me. Now be off."
It had been only a minute. The spies, killers, whoever they were, might be out front this moment.
"There are gems," I said, "and then there are real gems. I look for the odd thing, the unusual thing, and I can arrange payment."
He shuffled papers on his desk. "I've naught," he said gruffly, "and there's fifty people about who might." He peered up at me from his fat-lidded eyes. "Who was it sent you to me? I'll no talk no more until you tell me."
Only one name came to mind. "Pittingel," I said, "although I doubt he'd want his name mentioned."
Slowly he put his quill down. "Pittingel? Now what would he be telling of me? What, indeed? And to whom?"
"I'm lately from the Carolinas," I said, "and before that from Mexico."
I hoped he would not ask after Mexico, for I knew nothing of the place.
"What is it you'd be wanting?"
"It is as I said. Gems ... a big one, or two. Gold, if it is hand crafted and not melted down." I was doing what I could to keep off the street until they should have decided I was far away.
"Gems!" he shrugged. "There be enough of those about, taken from Spanish vessels." He waved a hand. "Go ask about. You'll find a pretty lot of them!"
"I look for only one or two, large stones," I added. "I have a market but only for the large ones."
Abruptly I turned away. "I waste time. This is no place. I was informed--"
"Aye," he said dryly, "and of that I would know more. Pittingel, you said? I scarce know the man, so would he send you to me? Or anybody for that matter."
"I'll go," I said. "I came to talk business-"
"And you shall," he said quietly. "Talk business, indeed! Do you take me for a fool? You're a spy! A bleeding spy!"
He snorted. "Pittingel, indeed! Aye, I know the man, but he knows little enough of me! And you to come with such a story, to me of all people! 'A large stone,' he says! Aye, is it a likely thing to come into such a place as mine, which sells sailors' truck and such, looking for gems?"
Taking another step back, I started to turn toward the curtain through which I had come. Unwittingly I had stumbled into some other affair of which I knew nothing and wished to know nothing.
"Obviously," I said, "we talk to no point. Perhaps another time--"
"Now," he said, and from under his desk he produced a formidable-looking pistol. The click of its cocking was loud in the room. "Sit down. I will have my boys in, and we shall know more about you, my young fool."
He shouted suddenly. "Harry! Tom! Here, at once!"
His pistol was gripped in his hand, but it was merely held, and he believed the threat was enough, but I kicked my chair toward him, just enough to make him jerk back from sheer instinct, and then I was through the curtains and found myself facing a burly fellow with more confidence than is usually permitted a man.
"Here, now! Just back up there! I will--!"
"Not now," I said, and kicked him on the kneecap. He bent over, grabbing at his injured knee with a howl, and I jerked my knee into his face, then pushed him aside with the flat of my hand and went for the outer door. A slim lad with an evil face awaited me there, but he stepped aside, smiling in no friendly fashion. "My time will come later," he said. "It always does!"
With that I was on the street and around the corner, across the street and around another corner. What manner of place was this Port Royal? Was there a den of thieves wherever a man looked? I had but stepped into a store--no matter.
Back at the tavern I went at once to the room and sat down upon the bench, throwing my hat upon the bed. As I did so, my eye caught a flutter from the table where sat the bowl and pitcher.
A bit of paper, held down by the bowl. I opened its one fold.
Madame Legare has been taken. Meet me near mouth of Rio Cobre, near Santiago de la Vega. No later than midnight.
Henry
For a moment I stood still, thinking. Madame Legare taken! She had escaped them once, but she would not do so again, and her husband, a good, well-meaning man, was probably not the kind to deal effectively with Bauer. Yet it was my responsibility, for it was I who had brought her to his attention.
Turning to my belongings, I dug out two pistols and loaded them and tucked both into my belt. To leave Port Royal for Santiago de la Vega and the mouth of the Rio Cobre was simply to cross the entrance to the bay. In my mind's eye I pictured the distance.
Two miles? Or a bit more?
I would go now, at once.
Chapter XIV
The boy I found on the shore who would take me across the harbor entrance was slim and very black, his eyes large and soulful. "A shillin', suh. I does it for a shillin'."
"Make good time and keep your eyes out for trouble and there'll be another shillin'," I said.
"A shillin'," he said. "An' I see anything you should know, I tell you."
He pushed off as soon as I was seated, and we moved at once out over the dark water. Dark water where no wind blew, and two dozen ships lay at anchor, pirate vessels most of them, some bulging with cargo freshly looted from vessels on the Spanish Main. Nor was the harbor quiet because night had come. A lighter, piled high with bales and casks, passed us. There were lights in the ships, and from a galleon, still bearing marks of fire and cannon balls, there came drunken singing. A man lurched to the rail and waved a bottle at us, inviting us for a drink. From shore there was the sound of music and drunken singing. It was a wild night in a wild port upon a wild sea with the island looming high and dark behind it.
"Lived here long?" I asked.
"No other place," he said. "I like it, suh. This is what I like, the boat, a man to take across, a shillin' comin' when you step ashore, an' sometime a cabin on the slope of the Healthshire Hills."
He was silent, and the oar chunked solemnly in the oarlock at the stern. There was not wind enough for a sail, although beyond the ships at anchor there might be.
"I been ast to go upon a ship. More'n one time. I don't want that. I don't want no gold bought for blood. I like a quiet time with the sound of my oar or water past the hull. I like a man settin' quiet like you. I like the smells on the other side, yonder. I like it over on Galleon Bay."
For a long time he was silent, and after a bit I said, "I am from the mountains of America, far away to the north. I have a cabin there where the flowers bloom and where the mountain edges reach up to the sky. I know what you mean."
He set me ashore after a while on a sandy spit near the river, and I gave him his shilling. "You have a family?" I asked. I could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness and the white scarf tied about his head.
"I once had. Maman died when I was tall as her waist. Papa an' me, we put her down and marked the place. He done stayed on wi' me, but his eyes were always a-looking at the sea, and ever' time a ship sailed, I think he's heart go wi' it.
"One day I was fourteen, an' papa he say I am man now, an' I say you go, papa. You go down where the ships go because I see he's heart is with them, and he went away, and I have my boat and sometimes a shillin'."
"What name do you have?"
"Andrew, suh. I am called Andrew."
"No other name?" I saw his teeth when he smiled.
"I have no need for other name. I am Andrew. It is enough. If I had another name, too, I might feel big about me, and it is not good. A boy named Andrew who has a boat. Good-by, suh."
I put the shilling in his hand, and he pushed off and went into the darkness, standing tall and quiet in his boat. I stood alone in the darkness, unmoving, until the night lost the sound of his oar.