Part 6 (1/2)

When Roddy invited the two merchants to join them Von Amberg thanked him politely and explained that his table was already laid for breakfast. With another exchange of bows the two gentlemen continued up the twisting path and disappeared among the bushes.

”_That's_ what I mean!” exclaimed Roddy approvingly. ”Now they are _our_ people. They have better manners, perhaps, than we have, but they're sensible, straight-from-the-shoulder men of business. _They_ aren't spying on anybody, or sending black-hand letters, or burying old men alive in prisons. If they saw a revolution coming they wouldn't know what----”

He was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of the men of whom he spoke. They were moving rapidly in the direction of the gate, and the countenance of each wore an expression of surprise and alarm. While his companion pa.s.sed them quickly, Mr. Von Amberg reluctantly hesitated, and, in evident perplexity and with some suspicion, looked from one to the other. The waiter had placed the coffee and bottles of cognac and of curacao upon the table; and Roddy hospitably moved a chair forward.

”Won't you change your mind,” he said, ”and try some of the stuff that made this island famous?”

In spite of his evident desire to escape, Von Amberg's good manners did not forsake him. He bowed and raised his hat in protest.

”I--I should be very pleased--some other time,” he stammered, ”but now I must return to town. I find to-day it is not possible to breakfast here. There is a large party--” he paused, and his voice rose interrogatively.

”Yes,” Roddy replied with indifference. ”We found them here. They took all the waiters away from us.”

The nature of the answer seemed greatly to surprise Von Amberg.

”You--you are not acquainted with those gentlemen?” he inquired.

In the fas.h.i.+on of his country, Roddy answered by another question.

”Who are they?” he asked. ”Who is the one whose health they are all the time drinking?”

For an instant Von Amberg continued to show complete bewilderment.

Then he smiled broadly. For him, apparently, the situation now possessed an aspect as amusing as it had been disturbing. He made a sly face and winked jovially.

”Oh! You Americans!” he exclaimed. ”You make good politicians. Do not fear,” he added hurriedly. ”I have seen nothing, and I say nothing. I do not mix myself in politics.” He started toward the gate, then halted, and with one eye closed whispered hoa.r.s.ely, ”It is all right.

I will say nothing!” Nodding mysteriously, he hurried down the path.

Peter leaned back in his chair and chuckled delightedly.

”There go your sensible business men,” he jeered, ”running away! Now what have you to say?”

Roddy was staring blankly down the path and shook his head.

”You can subpoena me,” he sighed. ”Why should they be afraid of a birthday-party? Why!” he exclaimed, ”they were even afraid of _me_! He didn't believe that we don't know those Venezuelans. He said,” Roddy recapitulated, ”he didn't mix in politics. That means, of course, that those fellows are politicians, and, probably this is their fas.h.i.+on of holding a primary. It must be the local method of floating a revolution. But why should Von Amberg think we're in the plot, too?

Because my name's Forrester?”

Peter nodded. ”That must be it,” he said. ”Your father is in deep with these Venezuelans, and everybody knows that, and makes the mistake of thinking you are also. I wish,” he exclaimed patiently, ”your father was more confiding. It is all very well for him--plotting plots from the top of the Forrester Building--but it makes it difficult for any one down here inside the firing-line. If your father isn't more careful,” he protested warmly, ”Alvarez will stand us blindfolded against a wall, and we'll play blind man's buff with a firing-squad.”

Peter's forebodings afforded Roddy much amus.e.m.e.nt. He laughed at his friend, and mocked him, urging him to keep a better hold upon his sense of humor.

”You have been down here too long yourself,” he said. ”You'll be having tropic choler next. I tell you, you must think of them as children: they're a pack of cards.”

”Maybe they are,” sighed Peter ”but as long as we don't know the game----”

From where Peter sat, with his back in their direction, he could not see the Venezuelans; but Roddy, who was facing them, now observed that they had finished their breakfast. Talking, gesticulating, laughing, they were crowding down the path. He touched Peter, and Peter turned in his chair to look at them.

At the same moment a man stepped from the bushes, and halting at one side of Roddy, stood with his eyes fixed upon the men of the birthday-party, waiting for them to approach. He wore the silk cap of a chauffeur, a pair of automobile goggles, and a long automobile coat.