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De Sylva's eager questions were answered in monosyllables, or the nearest approach thereto. "Marcel tells me that one of your boats is drifting away with a man lying in the bottom," came the uneasy explanation. Coke's face showed a degree of surprise, which, in his case, was almost invariably akin to disbelief, but an exclamation from Hozier drew all eyes.
Luckily, in response to De Sylva's sibilant order, most of the Andromeda's crew were hidden by the scrub from which they were about to emerge. The soldiers rose, and strolled nearer leisurely. "Now!" shouted De Sylva, leaping forward.
Men had no words as yet to meet this astounding development. Dom Corria went to where his rival lay. Dom Miguel was dying. His eyes met De Sylva's in a strange look of recognition. He tried to speak, but choked and died. Then the living President stooped over the dead one. He murmured something. Those near thought afterward that he said: "Is it worth it? Who knows!"
Her position, difficult enough already, would become intolerable if De Sylva's daughter became jealous, and she had no doubt whatsoever that San Benavides would seek to propitiate the woman he loved by callously telling the woman he had promised to marry that his affections were bestowed elsewhere.
So the girl's super-active brain was puzzled by De Sylva's rendering of his military friend's remarks. With the vaguest knowledge of what was actually said, she suspected that San Benavides had opposed the very project which, according to the President, he favored. She had caught the name of the relief vessel, the words bote, "boat," las doce, "twelve o'clock,"
From the nearest building it was necessary to cross a low wharf some fifty yards in width, and De Sylva's whispered commands could not restrain the eager men when escape appeared no longer problematical but assured. They broke, and ran, an almost fatal thing, as it happened, since the soldiers whom Philip had seen from the rock were still on board.
"The island absolutely swarms with rats; some of the larger varieties are rather dangerous." "Sufferin' Moses!" groaned Watts. "It'll be the death o' me." "Wot color are they?" asked Coke. De Sylva's reply was given in a tone of surprise. Certainly these hardy mariners had selected an unusual topic for discussion at a critical moment. "The common dark gray," he said.
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