Dick pondered. He believed Kenwardine really was surprised to hear he had
nearly been crushed by the block; but the fellow was clever and had begun
to talk about the accidents. He must do nothing to rouse his suspicions,
and began a painstaking account of the matter, explaining that the
guard-rail had got loose, but saying nothing about the clamps being
tampered with. Indeed, the trouble he took about the explanation was in
harmony with his character and his interest in his work, and presently
Kenwardine looked bored.
"I quite understand the thing," he said, and got up as the man Dick was
waiting for came towards the table.
The merchant did not keep Dick long, and he left the café feeling
satisfied. Kenwardine had probably had him watched and had had something
to do with the theft of the sheet from his blotting pad, but knew nothing
about the attempt upon his life. After hearing about it, he understood
why the accident happened, but had no cause to think that Dick knew, and
some of his fellow conspirators were responsible for this part of the
plot. Dick wondered whether he would try to check them now he did know,
because if they tried again, they would do so with Kenwardine's tacit
consent.
A few days later, he was sitting with Bethune and Jake one evening when
Stuyvesant came in and threw a card, printed with the flag of a British
steamship company, on the table.
"I'm not going, but you might like to do so," he said.
Dick, who was nearest, picked up the card. It was an invitation to a
dinner given to celebrate the first call of a large new steamship at
Santa Brigida, and he imagined it had been sent to the leading citizens
and merchants who imported goods by the company's vessels. After glancing
at it, he passed it on.
"I'll go," Bethune remarked. "After the Spartan simplicity we practise at
the camp, it will be a refreshing change to eat a well-served dinner in a
mailboat's saloon, though I've no great admiration for British cookery."
"It can't be worse than the dago kind we're used to," Jake broke in.
"What's the matter with it, anyhow?"
"It's like the British character, heavy and unchanging," Bethune replied.
"A London hotel menu, with English beer and whisky, in the tropics! Only
people without imagination would offer it to their guests; and then
they've printed a list of the ports she's going to at the bottom. Would
any other folk except perhaps the Germans, couple an invitation with a
hint that they were ready to trade? If a Spaniard comes to see you on
business, he talks for half an hour about politics or your health, and
apologizes for mentioning such a thing as commerce when he comes to the
point."