ajar, was now, he saw, fast shut. Was the Girl behind it? ⦠Or where? Why this mystery and secrecy about her?
Old Abrahamâs voice broke in on him. âDid you say youâd seen the spices growing?â he was eagerly asking Scander.
The sailor nodded. âSeen âem and traded in âem, both.â
âIn India, I take it?â Gama inquired.
âWell, sometimes. But oftener, the Arab captain I shipped with regular, got his spice first hand from the growers: cinnamon from Ceylon, and pepper where itâs plenty, âround Penang, and cloves and nutmegs from Am-boyna and the Bandas.â
No one spoke. The very air was charged with profound suspense. Abel and Nicolo exchanged elated glances and Nicolo said, in a low tone, âThat checks my Conti letters!â
Ferdinandâs eyes, fixed on Scander, seemed more than ever like smouldering fires. âIs the spice trade the big thing in that part of the world, as it is with us? âhe asked.
âYes and no, lad. Itâs this way: all east of Aden itâs about the same, gold, pearls, ivory, silk.â He reeled the list off as casually as one would say flour, eggs, milk. âBut at Aden thereâs a change and spice jumps into the lead.â
âWhy there?â
âWell, you see itâs near enough to the Mediterranean to feel the European premium on spices.â
âThen why couldnât a European,â Nicolo quickly took him up, âwho understood both ends of the business, make a good thing of it in Aden?â
âHumph! I was just waiting for someone to say that.â Again that hostile note.
At once everyone was on the defensive: âWhy not?â âWhatâs the matter with that?â
âWhatâs there against my Aden scheme?â Nicolo insisted.
âA European wouldnât be what youâd call exactly welcome at Aden. Thatâs what there is against it!â Scander said shortly. He looked deliberately around the table. âYou gentlemen thinking of going into spice?â
âNot so much for personal profit,â Abel replied slowly, âas for the nation; for Portugal.â
âKnow anything about the other end of the spice trade, the Arab end? Well, before you break into it, I can tell you a thing or two that might save you some trouble.â
In the words there was foreboding that riveted every eye on the tanned face.
âIt was one time, some years back, when weâd just made Aden from Calicut,â he abruptly began, âthat we got wind of some gossip that had come up the African coast, about a Franj ship-their word for European-that had been seen away to the south.â
There was a stir around the table. Everyoneâs eyes sought Diaz, and those near him saw his hands clench. But Scander, intent on his story, went on:
âIt didnât sound sensible to me, but when we started outh to Melmde, for ivory, up popped the story again; kept on popping, too. Seemed as if every place we went, we heard about this Franj ship.â
âDidnât they know you were a European?â Gama asked.
âFunny part of that was that Iâd been there so long and got into their ways so, that I didnât think of it myself â at least, not at first.â
âWhere did you say that place Melinde was?â Abel interrupted, and jotted hasty notes as the sailor directed.
âThe next time we were at Aden,â Scander pursued, âtalk about the Franj was running high, and in particular about â about ââ he nervously wet his lips ââ a Franj spice dealer there.â
For a moment he seemed to have forgotten his audience, and his eyes, staring over their heads, had a curious, dazed expression. Someone moved uneasily, and at once he recovered himself.
âOdd, how talking about it brings it all back,â he said, apologetically. âThey were telling it around that this Franj had the finest