“Um, you mentioned earlier that the tide is coming in,” she said, her breath coming quickly.
Carlos gave a little laugh, and released her from his embrace. “We have a while, but yes. You’re right as usual, Miss St George.”
Poppy began to shrug out of his jacket. “Thank you…” she started to say.
“Keep it for now. The wind is getting colder.” He looked up and down the beach, scanning for the return of any smugglers. But it was now silent except for the waves, lapping ever closer to the cliff. “All right, let’s go.”
“Indeed.” Poppy began to move toward the far end of the beach…toward the smugglers’ cave.
Chapter 6
Carlos stared after her for a moment, too surprised to stop her. “Wait! The stairs are the other way,” he said, making a grab for her arm and missing.
“I know that,” Poppy replied, casting a disdainful glance over her shoulder. “I want to see what they took into that cave. Aren’t you curious?”
“I’m curious, not suicidal.” He caught up and matched her pace. “What if someone is guarding it?”
“You counted twelve men on the way in and the way out. So who would be guarding it?”
“We’ll see,” he said, inwardly admitting that he did want to know what the men had been up to, and if they were connected to the gang that killed Mateo.
At the cave entrance, Carlos took her hand and held it firmly until he was sure there was no one inside. Surprisingly, Poppy didn’t object.
He let out a soft breath, not even aware till then that he’d been holding it in. “I think we’re the only ones here. I’m going to have a look inside.”
“You are?” Poppy said, exhaling in a whoosh, revealing that she’d also been worried. “I’m the one who said we should look!”
“You ought to stay out here.”
“When a smuggler could come back at any moment?” She arched her eyebrow. “I’m safer with you.”
Carlos shook his head. “Fine. We go in. We take one look and we leave. It’s probably just liquor.”
“One way to find out.” Poppy squeezed his hand, and offered him a smile he assumed was meant to be encouraging. (She could have no idea how much he needed encouragement just then. He hated caves.)
The narrow passage led into the cliff at an angle, so the darkness quickly became thick. He halted after a few steps. “This is a bad idea. We can’t even see anything in the dark.” His breath came a little faster just thinking about the close quarters and the weight of rock above them. He turned around to lead them both out.
Poppy evidently didn’t want to give up, because she blocked his way. “There must be something they used for light along the way,” she insisted, looking beyond him. “There, on the ground. A lantern.”
The lantern soon illuminated a dark, damp passage. It was wide enough for four men to walk abreast, but the ceiling was low, and the sand floor might well be covered at high tide.
“Charming,” Carlos muttered. He looked around in disgust. “Like a grave.”
“Oh, come on. Aren’t you excited?”
He shook his head, amazed that she could be happy in such a place. “That is not how I’d describe my state at the moment.”
Nevertheless, he kept near her, knowing it would be dangerous if they were separated. Poppy walked onward, and gasped when the passage suddenly opened up into a larger space, albeit one with low headroom and many dark corners. But the purpose of the cavern was obvious. Stacks of wooden crates occupied the middle of the space. They both hurried forward, peering at the nearest one.
“The crates are marked,” Poppy said, lifting the lantern to see better. “They shipped from India. This crate originated in Bengal,” she said, tapping on a word printed on the side. “That’s quite a distance.”
“You read Hindi? Or Bengalese?” he asked skeptically.
“Oh don’t be silly. I just learned to recognize the shapes of some words so that I could verify shipments at my stepfather’s warehouse. Lots of fabrics are woven or printed in India.”
“That makes sense, though I doubt these men were smuggling fabric,” he said. Then he noticed an iron bar leaning against one of the crates and seized it.
He pried up the lid of a crate. Inside, under the packing straw, they found smaller mango wood cases. Carlos opened one of these inner boxes and exposed stacks of cake-shaped objects wrapped in dried poppy petals. “I’ve seen this before,” he said. “It’s partially processed opium.”
