The steward slunk into the pa.s.sage leading to the pantry, and the Creole, turning, saw me.

"Ah, M'sieur; I saw you not. Pardon ze roughness, but consider, no dinare, an' I been on deck seek hour; no sleep, no eat, only work. I lose ze tempair, M'sieur."

"That is not to be wondered at," I answered, affecting good humor.

"Has the first mate been ash.o.r.e?"

"Oui, M'sieur; asleep in the sun, I bet you. Bah! any man could watch the sea from the cliff. Dat job not need ze furst officer. Sacre! but 't is a dog's life at sea."

I nodded my head, too busily engaged with my own thoughts to give much consideration to his troubles. Still, this situation, as revealed by Broussard's complaints, would afford us a respite of at least four hours. If this was the Creole's watch below, then Herman would keep the deck. Even lying there at anchor those fellows would not leave the crew alone. There was too much at stake, and besides there must still remain a look-out ash.o.r.e. However it was a relief to know that the German had nothing of importance to communicate to Henley, no occasion even to come below. Broussard sank back into a chair, watching the frightened negro hurry back and forth. At last, satisfied that everything available had been produced, the former strode across to the table, jerked out a chair, and waved his hand toward me in invitation to join him.

"The lazy dog! 'T is likely all you will get, M'sieur. Maybe you eat with me--hey? Or would you wait for ze Capitaine?"

"I 'll take pot-lunch with you, Broussard," I agreed genially, speaking loud enough so the negro would overhear. "I 've got to get accustomed to camp fare, and am hungry enough to begin. Besides, Captain Henley is laid up in his berth with a sick headache, and does n't wish to be disturbed. He told me to tell you, Louis."

"Yes, sah! Shall Ah make you sum coffee, sah? Ma.s.sa Broussard he don't nebber drink none."

"Yes, and, by the way, Louis, take a lunch in to the lady; fix up something neat if you can, and let me know when it is ready. All right, Broussard, a nip of that brandy would help me."

He pa.s.sed the bottle, and a clean gla.s.s across the table, watching me pour out the liquor with a sarcastic smile.

"You know ze Capitaine before, maybe?" he asked.

"No," I answered, wondering what he could be aiming at, but willing to give him a free rein. "Only since he tapped me on the head back in the cellar. However, he has been square with me, and seems to be a pretty good fellow."

"You think so--hey! Maybe so while he get you with heem. Den he ze devil. I know, M'sieur. I see heem for long while on ze ocean; zat whar' you fin' out."

I began eating slowly, exhibiting an indifference I was far from feeling, yet swiftly determining that no matter how much antagonism might exist between the two men, I would never trust the Creole. Still I might use him to advantage; induce him to talk freely under the spur.

"What has he done to you?" I asked carelessly.

"By Gar!--what!" firing up at the recollection. "Get out o' here, yer d.a.m.n c.o.o.n!" turning fiercely upon the steward, and then leaning across the table, lowering his voice, which yet trembled with pa.s.sion.

"Sacre, M'sieur, it was I do his dirty work five--seek--year. He no sailor, but I sail ze sheep for him--see? Tree, four time I sail ze sheep, an' he make ze money. Vat he geef me? Maybe one hundred ze month--bah! eet was to laugh. Zen he fin' zat Dutch hog, Herman, an'

make of heem ze furst officer. He tell eet all me nice, fine, an' I tink maybe eet all right. You know he promise beeg profit--hey! an' I get ze monies. Oui, it sound good. But Herman big brute; he gif me ze ordaire, and I not like eet. I tells ze Capitaine, an' by Gar! he keep me tied up before ze port watch. You stan' zat, M'sieur?"

I shook my head, uncertain just what stand to take.

"Nevar!" he went on, barely pausing for breath. "I show ze d.a.m.n half-breed; you vait, I git heem."

"What do you mean by half-breed, Broussard?" I questioned, surprised.

He laughed, but not pleasantly.

"He vas ze mongrel--sure; you know not zat? Sacre, I tell you zen.

What you zink him, white man? Pah! you see hees mother--she mulatto.

Ze d.a.m.n dog!"

"How do you know that?"

"How I know! I tell you I sail with heem long while. He nevar tell, but I fin' eet out. I listen, I hear ze talk, but I say noddings, M'sieur. Vat I care while he treat me right? But now I show heem vat I know. He not lord eet over me ven ol' Sallie vas his mother--by Gar!

no!"

"Sallie! You cannot mean that mulatto woman back on the plantation?"

"Sure, the ol' rip."

"Then his name is not Henley?"

"Why not, M'sieur? The ol' Judge was his father."

The whole thing came to me in a flash, as I stared across at the mate, who scarcely realized yet the revelation made. He was brooding over his wrongs, and how he was to be avenged.

"Good G.o.d!" I breathed, "so that 's the way of it!"

Broussard looked up, a cunning smile on his face. "By Gar, I forget,"

he said softly. "You vas after ze monies too, hey! Bah! eet make no difference vat you know. He haf you here all right, var' you keep still or--" and he drew the back of a knife across his throat. "I vonder he not keel you furst, M'sieur; maybe he use you, an' then, hav'

you shot in ze South. Oui, zat be ze easy vay. Why you ever c.u.m down, an' claim to be Philip Henley--hey?"

"That was all a mistake," I returned deliberately. "I came merely to look after his interest?"

"Interest! Why a dead man hav' interest?"

"Do you mean Philip Henley is dead?"

"You pretend not know? By Gar, eet queer. Vell, I tell you, M'sieur.

Ze hole back ov ze picture; I lie there one night an' leesten, week, ten days ago. Ze Capitaine talk with Sallie. He hav' letter from North--one, two sheet paper--an' eet tell heem how eet all vas.

Someone write heem--I link maybe Pierre Vonique who went way long time.

No matter; vat he told was zat M'sieur Philip die--die queek frum accident. Nevah speak, an' when zey pick heem up, zar was noddin' in hees pocket. See, M'sieur! He vas robbed. Vonique he hear about eet, an' fin' ze body. No one know who ze man is, but Vonique know. To prove eet he send ze ring--ze signet ring--off ze finger. Zen he write, 'Look out, someone has ze papers. Watch who comes.' Zat vas true, M'sieur."

I hung on his words, fascinated, never doubting, the very thought of her freedom obscuring all else. It was only as he stopped speaking, and resumed his meal, that I gained control of my voice. The affair was clear enough now, except for some few corroborative details.

"And someone did come, Broussard?"

"Oui, d.a.m.n queek--a fellow with a letter from Philip; eet was sign hees name, hees handwrite, appoint heem overseer."

"And what became of him?"

The Creole shrugged his shoulders.

"'T is not my business, M'sieur. He go way somewhere queek. Maybe he not like ze place."

The dead face of the bearded man in the rear room rose before me. But Broussard went on.

"Zen you came, M'sieur, 'long wiz ze girl. Ze Capitaine he laugh, eet was so easy. Why ze girl, M'sieur?"

"Philip Henley was married."

"Non, non, impossible; eet cannot be shown. 'T is not of ze record.

Ze Capitaine not 'fraid any more; he just play wiz you like ze cat wiz ze mouse. He know Philip dead; he has ze proof, an' now he breaks ze will, an' gets ze monies. Ze d.a.m.n dog rich now; zen he be more rich."