The other man was of striking appearance. He was tall, and of soldierly carriage. His dark, curly hair was gray at the temples, but, apart from this evidence of years, his handsome face was so youthful looking that he could easily have passed for a man in the early thirties. His complexion was ruddy, his dark eyes were sparkling. His well-waxed mustache, the ends of which were as sharp as stiletto points, gave his countenance a decidedly foreign aspect, otherwise he might have been taken for an American. The Camera Chap had learned that his name was Juan Cipriani, that he was a native of Argentine, and on his way back to that country. The pair had been engaged in conversation as they approached, and now, as they leaned against the rail, they continued talking. They spoke in Spanish, and it seemed to Hawley that their voices were pitched above their normal register. “In my opinion, it is a piece of impertinence for her to return to Baracoa,” the one known as Cipriani said emphatically. “If she has any delicacy she must realize how unwelcome she will be to the people whom her rascally husband robbed and betrayed.” “But if her father is dying,” the other argued tolerantly. “Bah!” retorted Cipriani, with a contemptuous gesture. “Who would believe that story? You can depend upon it, my friend, her sole purpose in going back there is to make trouble. If your President Portiforo were wise he would instruct his port officers to refuse to permit her to leave the ship. That is the only way to deal with a woman of her stripe.” “But, after all, it is scarcely fair to blame her for her husband’s sins,” Lopez suggested mildly. “We must admit that the abominable Felix treated her as shabbily as he did my unfortunate country. I understand that she has not once heard from him since he fled.” The other laughed ironically. “Are you so ingenuous, my friend, as to believe that? You can be sure that he has been in constant communication with her, and that she is only waiting for a chance to join him and help him spend his stolen fortune. No doubt, she would have done so before now if she had not feared that she was too closely watched to---- I beg your pardon, sir--what did you say?” This last remark was addressed to the Camera Chap, who, unable to contain himself any longer, had stepped up, frowning angrily, a menacing glint in his eyes. He knew Spanish well enough to make out most of their conversation, and although he had stood some distance away, every word that they had uttered had reached his ears. He knew, too, that the señora had heard. She was making a brave pretense of being absorbed in her novel, but the book trembled perceptibly in her hand. Up to this point Hawley had hesitated to interfere, feeling that such a course might only add to her embarrassment; but now he decided that this cruelty must be stopped. If these men were permitted to go on there was no telling what they might say next.