"Yes, José," and Westcott dropped on to a bench. "Anything wrong? You
seem nervous."

"No, _señor_. I expected you not to-night; there was a man there by
the big tree at sunset."

"You saw him?"

"Yes, but not his face, _señor_. He think me gone at first, but when I
walk out on the edge of the cliff then he go--quick, like that. When
the door creak I say maybe he come back."

"One of the La Rosita gang likely. Don't fight them, José. Let them
poke around inside if they want to; they won't find anything but rock.
There is no better way to fool that bunch than let them investigate to
their heart's content. Got a bite there for me?"

"_Si, señor_, aplenty."

"All right then; I'm hungry and have a bit of work ahead. Put it on
the table here, and sit down yourself, José."

The Mexican did as ordered, glancing across at the other between each
mouthful of food, as though not exactly at ease. Westcott ate
heartily, without pausing to talk.

"You hear yet Señor Cavendish?" José asked at last.

"No." Westcott hesitated an instant, but decided not to explain