“Frankly, I do. But that is not the point.” The consul set the cigar in an ashtray and clasped his hands on the desk. “Even if this Francisco could be found and charged on the existing evidence, of which there is next to none, the case would be tried in a Cuban court, and I’m sure no Cuban judge and jury would believe one word of what you say. I would imagine that Francisco’s attorney would plant an idea in the judge’s and jury’s minds that Mr. Terhune died in, ah, let’s say different circumstances—circumstances that you three tried to hide with a fabricated story about a knifing. Is my drift clear, gentlemen?”

“I think so, Mr. Carrington,” replied Nathaniel, his indignation cooling rapidly. “We could get into trouble?”

“And maybe a heap of it, so my very strong advice to you is not to pursue this matter any further. I’m as far as you can go, in any case. You’re in another country, boys.”

A pall of resignation settled over them. Recalling Carrington’s summary of their story, it sounded unbelievable, even to them.

“The problem we now have is getting you three back home,” the consul said. “You say you’re almost broke?”

They were. They had bought dinner last night, after arriving in Havana, and breakfast and lunch this morning. To that was added the expense of the two telegrams they had sent yesterday (a pair of American sailors had shown them where the cable office was in the maze of the city’s narrow streets): one to their father begging for money for passage home, the other to Euphrenia Lowe (Nathaniel knowing that the wire did not release him from the obligation to tell her face-to-face).

“And as of this morning, you had not received a reply from your father?” asked Carrington.

“Not this afternoon, either,” Nathaniel answered, with some embarrassment. “Maybe he’s on a business trip or something.”

“And you have nowhere to stay while you’re waiting for a reply?”

“Luis let us sleep on the boat last night, after we unloaded his coconuts for him. But he’s gone now, like we said, sir.”

“Then take this, Nathaniel.” Carrington pulled a billfold out of his inside coat pocket and passed seven dollars in one dollar bills across the desk. “The Yankee buck goes a long way in this country. Five should buy a meal for the three of you and a night in an inexpensive hotel. I’ll give you the name of one close by. It has baths and a barbershop next door, and that’s where I strongly recommend you spend the other two dollars. A thank-you would not be out of order,” the consul added, when the Braithwaites failed to offer one.

“Guess we forgot our manners,” Nathaniel apologized. “Thanks. If we don’t get an answer from our dad by tomorrow, what should we do then?”