The arbour was supported by lofty palms, and the sides of it were formed of a network of the most beautiful creepers, heavy with sweet blossoms and luscious fruits. The glittering sands of the seashore formed the floor. Through the roof of feathery palm leaves the innumerable and brilliant stars of the Southern Hemisphere could be seen glowing out of the depths of night. A number of small tame birds of lovely red and yellow plumage fluttered about the arbour, and alighted on the tables in search of food. Glow-worms and fireflies gleamed like diamonds among the foliage, and outside was heard the splashing of the tiny waves and the shrill cry of the cicala. The lavish tropical nature had made of this a fit palace for a fairy queen, and lo, it was a thieves' kitchen! CHAPTER X Having dined off some very greasy dishes served up with cassava or lentils, and seasoned with hot peppers in the Brazilian fashion, Carew and the mate lit their pipes, and the one-eyed negro brought them cups of black coffee and glasses of white native rum. The table at which they sat was at some distance from any other, so all risk of their conversation being overheard was obviated. "All these men are thieves, you say?" said Carew, looking round at the strange assembly, on whose faces the Venetian lanterns cast a ruddy glow. "Yes, thieves and murderers, all of them," replied the mate, "but well-behaved, quiet folk, as you see. One is safer here than in some of the flash cafés in the main streets of Rio." "They carry their characters on their faces. I only see one in the whole crowd whom I would not instinctively distrust. Who is that tall, handsome old man with the long white hair and beard?" "That is our worthy host," said Baptiste. "He looks like a mild, mediæval saint, but there is much blood on his hands. I must introduce him to you, for he is a celebrated character in his way." Baptiste caught the old man's eye, and beckoned to him to approach the table. "Good-evening to you, Father Luigi. I think you understand French?" The old man nodded an assent. "I don't suppose you remember me? I have not been here for a very long time." "I never forget a face that I have seen in my café," replied the host in French, with a strong Italian accent. "This, Luigi, is my present captain, an English milord, travelling in his yacht; and this, captain, is the once well-known Roman brigand, Luigi Querini. Oh, an awful cut-throat in his time, I assure you." Querini shook his head sadly. "But not so now, signor. I am getting old. Heigh-ho, but those were grand days we had in the Abruzzi Mountains before Victor Emmanuel's gendarmerie spoilt Italy." "Sit down and have a glass with us, Luigi," said the mate. "_Salud y pesetas_--health and dollars to you; that's an old River Plate toast. Luigi knows Buenos Ayres well, captain. He'll tell us all about it."