This harmless commercial item was read by many officials hostile to De Sylva, yet it evoked no comment. Its first real effect was observable in the counting-house of the Hamburg owners. There it was believed that Captain Schmidt had either become a lunatic himself or was in touch with a rich one. Schmidt was so well known to them that they acted on the latter hypothesis. They cabled him their hearty commendation, "drew" on the Paris bank by the next post, and awaited developments. To their profound amazement, the money was paid. As they had obtained 8,750 pounds for a vessel worth about one-quarter of the sum, they had good reason to be satisfied. It mattered not a jot to them that the sale was made "as from September 1st," or any other date. They signed the desired quittance, cabled Schmidt again to ask if Senhor Pondillo was in need of other ships of the _Unser Fritz_ class, and the members of the firm indulged that evening in the best dinner that the tip-top restaurant of Hamburg could supply.
They were puzzled next day by certain statements in the newspapers, and were called on to explain to a number of journalists that the ship had left their ownership. She was at Maceio. Where was Maceio? Somewhere in South America.
"_Es ist nicht von Bedeutung_," said the senior partner to his associates. "Schmidt will write full particulars; when all is said and done, we have the money."
Yet it did matter very greatly, as shall be seen. Here, again, was an instance of an humble individual becoming a cog in the wheel of world politics. Within less than a month Schmidt was vituperated by half the chancelleries of Europe. A newspaper war raged over him. He became the object of an Emperor's Jovian wrath. "What's the matter with Schmidt? He's--all--right!" thundered the whole press of the United States. And all because he had made a good bargain at a critical moment!
But no one on board the _Unser Fritz_ was vexed by aught save present tribulations when De Sylva and his _aide_ quitted the ship. Be sure that not a soul thought of sleep. Every man, and the one woman whom chance had thrown in their midst, remained on deck and watched the slumbering town. It was only a small place. The _Andorinha_ lay at one end of the harbor, the _Unser Fritz_ at the other. They were barely half a mile apart, and Maceio climbed the sloping shore between the two points.