"Yet you think this was not all?" the Commandante suggested.
"I am a merchant, not a politician," Don Arturo rejoined. "I have got back my ship and am satisfied."
"You have some grounds for satisfaction. The ship carried guns for rebels and Señor Musgrave was your servant as well as Wolf's. I think this was a mistake, but Don Ramon has used much discretion, and we do not doubt your honesty."
"In the meantime, my purser and the Spanish sailors have not returned. What are you going to do about it?"
The Commandante lighted a cigar. "You must use patience. I think you see the situation is awkward, and Wolf is not a common cheat. Your manager knows much about our politics."
"I imagine Wolf's object was not altogether to earn money by smuggling and robbing the Moors," Don Ramon agreed meaningly.
The officer shrugged. "It is possible. One cannot be altogether frank, but there is some jealousy about the African coast, and a country we know feels she is shut out. Well, we will imagine a ship flying the Spanish flag is seized by a foreign gunboat, and French subjects are killed by the guns she landed. Perhaps Spanish subjects are killed; it is not important which. Then the ship is really British. Picture for yourself the complications! When a dispute begins, who knows where it will end?"
"In Spain, we are old-fashioned, and our justice is not British justice," said the Commandante, whose face got very stern. "One is given some discretion. If I could find Señor Wolf----"
"For a few days we must wait," the civil officer resumed. "Perhaps the English _sobrecargo_ and our sailors will return. If they do not, we must think---- But we will talk about something else."
They talked for some time and then a messenger arrived and gave Don Ramon a note.
"It is from the office," he remarked. "The signals on the Isleta are going. A schooner and a ketch come from the East."
"Ah," said Austin with a smile, "I reckoned on something like this. I think the situation has arranged itself."
"You mean, the ketch is yours?" said Don Arturo.
"I expect she is the _Cayman_ and the other is the _Lucia_. It looks as if Musgrave had got the men. Shall we cross the harbour and see the boats arrive?"
The others agreed, for all were keen to get the news, and soon afterwards they landed on the long mole, which, built of ponderous concrete blocks, runs for some distance out to sea. The morning was bright, the Trade-breeze fresh, and outside the shelter of the Isleta head big foam-tipped combers rolled south. Shining spray blew about the mole, and one felt the surges beat the massive blocks. The echoes of the measured shocks rolled among the coal wharfs across the harbour.