He followed the hill road slowly in a thoughtful mood. The manager had been frank, but Dick suspected him of trying to show that he had nothing to hide. Then he imagined that a quantity of coal had been shipped since the previous day, and if the tug had been at sea at night, she must have been used for towing lighters. The large vessel he had seen was obviously a passenger boat, but fast liners could be converted into auxiliary cruisers. There were, however, so far as he knew, no enemy cruisers in the neighborhood; indeed, it was supposed that they had been chased off the seas. Still, there was something mysterious about the matter, and he meant to watch the coaling company and Kenwardine. CHAPTER XVIII DICK GETS A WARNING On the evening of one pay-day, Dick took a short cut through the half-breed quarter of Santa Brigida. As not infrequently happens in old Spanish cities, this unsavory neighborhood surrounded the cathedral and corresponded in character with the localities known in western America as "across the track." Indeed, a Castilian proverb bluntly plays upon the juxtaposition of vice and bells. Ancient houses rose above the dark and narrow street. Flakes of plaster had fallen from their blank walls, the archways that pierced them were foul and strewn with refuse, and a sour smell of decay and garbage tainted the stagnant air. Here and there a grossly fat, slatternly woman leaned upon the rails of an outside balcony; negroes, Chinamen, and half-breeds passed along the broken pavements; and the dirty, open-fronted wine-shops, where swarms of flies hovered about the tables, were filled with loungers of different shades of color. By and by Dick noticed a man in clean white duck on the opposite side of the street. He was a short distance in front, but his carriage and the fit of his clothes indicated that he was a white man and probably an American, and Dick slackened his pace. He imagined that the other would sooner not be found in that neighborhood if he happened to be an acquaintance. The fellow, however, presently crossed the street, and when he stopped and looked about, Dick, meeting him face to face, saw with some surprise that it was Kemp, the fireman, who had shown him an opportunity of escaping from the steamer that took them South. Kemp had turned out a steady, sober man, and Dick, who had got him promoted, wondered what he was doing there, though he reflected that his own presence in the disreputable locality was liable to be misunderstood. Kemp, however, looked at him with a twinkle. "I guess you're making for the harbor, Mr. Brandon?" Dick said he was, and Kemp studied the surrounding houses. "Well," he resumed, "I'm certainly up against it now. I don't know much Spanish, and these fool dagos can't talk American, while they're packed so tight in their blamed tenements that it's curious they don't fall out of the windows. It's a tough proposition to locate a man here." "Then you're looking for somebody?"