He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. "I have not told you half. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. White. " "I've been wondering, too. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket.
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