It was four in the afternoon. The street outside steamed with heat, and the odors that make Gibraltar a lasting memory were at their prime of distillation. The proprietor of the Splendide was nodding over his books. A light footfall on the boards beyond the desk roused him. A girl with two cigar boxes under her arm slipped, like a shadow, up to the desk. She was dressed in the bright colors of Spain, claret-colored skirt under a broad Romany sash, and with thin white waist, open at rounded throat. A cheap tortoise-shell comb held her coils of chestnut hair high on her head. Louisa of the Wilhelmstrasse; but not the same Louisa--the sophisticated Louisa of the Café Riche and the Winter Garden. A timid little cigar maker she was, here in Gibraltar.
"Louisa!" Almer's head bobbed up on a suddenly stiffened neck as he whispered her name. She set her boxes of cigars on the desk, opened them, and as she made gestures to point the worthiness of her wares, she spoke swiftly, and in a half whisper:
"All is as we hoped, Almer. He comes on the _Princess Mary_--a cablegram from Koch just got through to-day. I wanted----"
"You mean----" Almer thrust his head forward in his eagerness, and his eyes were bright beads.
"Captain Woodhouse--our Captain Woodhouse!" The girl's voice trembled in exultation. "And his number--his Wilhelmstrasse number--is--listen carefully: Nineteen Thirty-two."
"Nineteen Thirty-two," Almer repeated, under his breath. Then aloud: "On the _Princess Mary_, you say?"
"Yes; she is already anchored in the straits. The tenders are coming ashore. He will come here, for such were his directions in Alexandria." Louisa started to move toward the street door.
"But you," Almer stopped her; "the English are making a round-up of suspects on the Rock. They will ask questions--perhaps arrest----"
"Me? No, I think not. Just because I was away from Gibraltar for six weeks and have returned so recently is not enough to rouse suspicion. Haven't I been Josepha, the cigar girl, to every Tommy in the garrison for nearly a year? No--no, señor; you are wrong. These are the purest cigars made south of Madrid. Indeed, señor."
[Illustration: "Haven't I been Josepha for nearly a year?"]
The girl had suddenly changed her tone to one of professional wheedling, for she saw three entering the door. Almer lifted his voice angrily: