Things are too uncertain in the South Seas when you aren't here to keep an eye on them."
"Do you think that if I went, say, to Sydney, I might find someone who would help me out? Maybe a syndicate—"
The Swede shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"You might try it, yes," he said. "But men have sold plantations to Sydney people before, and they have been bitten."
More depressed than ever, Chester returned to the Kestrel, and spent the night on board. Next morning he weighed anchor, and dropped down the coast to where Moniz had his headquarters. He moored the ketch in a little bay, which formed a harbour, and was rowed ashore.
When Chester arrived Moniz was sprawling in a deck chair on the veranda of his bungalow, smoking one of his eternal cigarettes. He had seen the Kestrel the moment it came round the point, and a puzzled expression had swept over his swarthy face at sight of her. The first impulse of the Portuguese had been to walk down to the beach, to meet his visitor, but on second thought he remained where he was. As Chester crossed the compound he rose with simulated surprise.
"Hello," said the Englishman, endeavouring to hide the extreme dislike with which he tackled his task.
