Dick colored, but looked his questioner steadily in the face.
"I was in the army. They turned me out."
The Vice-Consul made a gesture. "I have nothing to do with the reason for
this; but you can see my difficulty. You urge me to meddle with things
that require very delicate handling and with which my interference would
have to be justified. No doubt, you can imagine the feelings of my
superiors when I admitted that I acted upon hints given me by a stranger
in the employ of Americans, who owned to having been dismissed from the
British army."
Dick got up, with his face firmly set.
"Very well. There's no more to be said. I won't trouble you again."
Leaving the house, he walked moodily back to the end of the line. The
Vice-Consul was a merchant and thought first of his business, which might
suffer if he gained the ill-will of corrupt officials. He would, no
doubt, move if he were forced, but he would demand incontestable proof,
which Dick feared he could not find. Well, he had done his best and been
rebuffed, and now the temptation to let the matter drop was strong. To go
on would bring him into conflict with Kenwardine, and perhaps end in his
losing Clare, but he must go on. For all that, he would leave the
Vice-Consul alone and trust to getting some help from his employer's
countrymen. If it could be shown that the enemy was establishing a secret
base for naval operations at Adexe, he thought the Americans would
protest. The Vice-Consul, however, had been of some service by teaching
him the weakness of his position. He must strengthen it by carefully
watching what went on, and not interfere until he could do so with
effect. Finding the locomotive waiting, he returned to his shack and with
an effort fixed his mind upon the plans of some work that he must
superintend in the morning.
For the next few days he was busily occupied. A drum of the traveling
crane broke and as it could not be replaced for a time, Dick put up an
iron derrick of Bethune's design to lower the concrete blocks into place.
They were forced to use such material as they could find, and the gang of
peons who handled the chain-tackle made a poor substitute for a steam
engine. In consequence, the work progressed slowly and Stuyvesant ordered
it to be carried on into the night. Jake and Bethune grumbled, but Dick
found the longer hours and extra strain something of a relief. He had now
no leisure to indulge in painful thoughts; besides, while he was busy at
the dam he could not watch Kenwardine, and his duty to his employer
justified his putting off an unpleasant task.
One hot night he stood, soaked with perspiration and dressed in soiled
duck clothes, some distance beneath the top of the dam, which broke down
to a lower level at the spot. There was no moon, but a row of blast-lamps
that grew dimmer as they receded picked out the tall embankment with jets
of pulsating flame. Glimmering silvery gray in the light, it cut against
the gloom in long sweeping lines, with a molded rib that added a touch of
grace where the slope got steeper towards its top. This was Dick's
innovation. He had fought hard for it and when Jake supported him
Stuyvesant had written to Fuller, who sanctioned the extra cost. The rib
marked the fine contour of the structure and fixed its bold curve upon
the eye.