Always suspicious and alert, he was ready, when the grey hull of the Petrel hove in sight off Tamba, to learn that the wolves were on his track. He was on board the schooner, lying off the point where his bungalow stood, when the Petrel's pinnace shot from the gunboat's side. It passed close to the schooner, and was heading for the beach near his home.
"Hello, there!" he hailed, waving his pith helmet.
The pinnace lost way and swung round.
"Howdy," the lieutenant in charge replied; and then followed a brief battle of wits. One or two guarded questions concerning Tamba were put by the lieutenant, to which Moniz replied.
"Who's hanging out on the island now?" the lieutenant asked airily.
"One or two planters—there's a Swede named Svenk; there's Diaz; there was a chap called Angell, but he's gone west; and there's Vasco Moniz, a trader. His place is away on the other side."
The Portuguese watched the lieutenant as the latter stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"May I ask your name?" said the lieutenant in a suave tone.
"My name's Haskell," the Portuguese replied glibly. "I've got a bit of a shack right here. Anything I can do for you?"
"Why, no," said the lieutenant. "You say Moniz's place is at the other side of the island, eh?"
