“But, O’Shea! Are they sending someone to make terms?” “They are. At eleven o’clock to-night.” “Why not have him arrested?” O’Shea stared at me, and smiled. But it was a cold smile. “Julian Macalister is coming in person,” he replied. “News of this unfortunate occurrence having reached him and our mutual friend, Gabriel da Cunha, both are anxious to place their extensive knowledge of the island at our disposal. On what charge should you propose to arrest Macalister?” “Directly he declares his real object, upon a triple charge of blackmail, abduction, and attempted murder!” “And then?” “Well, surely----” “My dear fellow!” O’Shea stood up and sighed wearily. “Racks and boiling oil would never be sanctioned by the civil governor. Personally, I should prescribe them.” I was silenced. O’Shea was right. “Under Portuguese law the case would take weeks,” he added. “It would be adjourned to Lisbon. No. We cannot leave her in unknown hands----” He turned, the sentence unfinished, and walked across to the balcony. I knew that if she had never met Edmond O’Shea little Nanette would have been safe in England that night. And I knew that he knew. Taking up the portfolio, I went out, closing the door very quietly. CHAPTER XV. TERMS WITH THE ENEMY I had noted a loose floor board in my room. With the aid of a knife blade, I succeeded in lifting it, revealing a dusty cavity. Here I hid the portfolio. I replaced the board and slipped the key on to my ring with others that I habitually carried. That I was destined to be present at the interview with Macalister, I foresaw clearly enough. How best to prepare myself it was not easy to determine. Primarily I had to focus upon keeping my temper. O’Shea plainly wanted to be alone. I looked into the cocktail bar. Two men whom I knew were drinking highballs, and: “Hullo, Decies,” said one, “what’s this crazy rumour about your little friend?” The words offended me. I suppose I was in a mood for it. Since the fateful morning that Nanette had missed the boat, many questionable glances had been cast upon me. “It’s what you say,” I answered shortly: “a crazy rumour.” Then I went out. I crossed the lobby and stood in the porch for a while, breathing the warm perfume of the gardens. A man and a girl were walking down the slope toward the terraces. He had his arm about her waist. The open road called to me. Lighting my pipe, I set out. Drivers of bullock carts solicited my patronage, but I ignored them and walked on. I had no idea where I was going. I think I was merely running away from myself. I could not banish the illusion that Nanette was hiding behind some tree; that she would suddenly leap out at me with mock reproaches for my neglect of the grass orphan. Twice I thought I saw her slender figure in the distance.