"So did I, but it seems that Kenwardine came to Stuyvesant and offered
him as much as he wanted."
"Kenwardine!" Dick exclaimed.
Bethune lighted his pipe. "Yes, Kenwardine. As the wharf's supposed to be
owned by Spaniards, I don't see what he has to do with it, unless he's
recently bought them out. Anyhow, it's high-grade navigation coal."
"Better stuff than we need, but the difference in price won't matter if
we can keep the concrete mill going," Dick remarked thoughtfully. "Still,
it's puzzling. If Kenwardine has bought the wharf, why's he sending the
coal away, instead of using it in the regular bunkering trade?"
"There's a hint of mystery about the matter. I expect you heard about the
collier tramp that was consigned to the French company at Arucas? Owing
to some dispute, they wouldn't take the cargo and the shippers put it on
the market. Fuller tried to buy some, but found that another party had
got the lot. Well, Stuyvesant believes it was the German, Richter, who
bought it up."
"Jake tells me that Richter's a friend of Kenwardine's."
"I didn't know about that," said Bethune. "They may have bought the cargo
for some particular purpose, for which they afterwards found it wouldn't
be required, and now want to sell some off."
"Then Kenwardine must have more money than I thought."
"The money may be Richter's," Bethune replied. "However, since we'll now
have coal enough to last until Fuller sends some out, I don't know that
we have any further interest in the matter."
He glanced keenly at Dick's thoughtful face; and then, as the latter did
not answer, talked about something else until he got up to go. After he
had gone, Dick leaned back in his chair with a puzzled frown. He had met
Richter and rather liked him, but the fellow was a German, and it was
strange that he should choose an English partner for his speculations, as
he seemed to have done. But while Kenwardine was English, Dick's papers
had been stolen at his house, and his distrust of the man grew stronger.
There was something suspicious about this coal deal, but he could not
tell exactly what his suspicions pointed to, and by and by he took up the
plan of a culvert they were to begin next morning.
A few days later, Jake and he sat, one night, in the stern of the launch,
which lay head to sea about half a mile from the Adexe wharf. The
promised coal had not arrived, and, as fuel was running very short at the
concrete mill, Dick had gone to see that a supply was sent. It was late
when he reached Adexe, and found nobody in authority about, but three
loaded lighters were moored at the wharf, and a gang of peons were
trimming the coal that was being thrown on board another. Ahead of the
craft lay a small tug with steam up. As the half-breed foreman declared
that he did not know whether the coal was going to Santa Brigida or not,
Dick boarded the tug and found her Spanish captain drinking caña with
his engineer. Dick thought one looked at the other meaningly as he
entered the small, hot cabin.