The whisky was extra good; he did not like mulattoes, and knew no reason for his entertaining his uninvited guest. Yet he put a gla.s.s on the table; one gla.s.s.

He imagined the other understood the significance of this, for his eyes momentarily narrowed. It was strange, but they now looked blue. For all that, he poured out a liberal measure of whisky and drank slowly, like a connoisseur.

Marston studied him with some curiosity and on the whole felt repelled.

The old fellow looked cunning and greedy, but not debased. One got a hint of cruelty and power, and his manner was very calm. In West Africa, Marston would perhaps have kicked him out, but pure white men are not numerous on the south and west coasts of the Caribbean and the distinction of color is relaxed. Besides, he reflected, he was engaged in trading with the natives.

"You lib for here for buy thing," the other remarked presently. "What thing you want?"

Marston mentioned some articles Wyndham had talked about, and the other nodded. "You go make me dash and you get them thing. Agent man fool man; him no savvy black man's way in bush."

"If the stuff comes along, we'll talk about the dash," Marston answered cautiously, although he did not like his visitor and wondered when he would go.

"When white cappy come back?" the old fellow asked.

"In the morning, I expect," said Marston with a yawn.

The other got up as if he were going, and turned sideways in order to pa.s.s between the swing-table and the locker. There was not much room, for one does not lean against a swing-table, which keeps its level by a counterbalance underneath when the vessel rolls. It looked as if the mulatto knew this, and Marston thought it strange. Next moment, however, he struck his naked foot against the fastenings in the deck and, stumbling, put his arm on the table. The table tilted and the medicine chest slipped off. It turned over as it fell and emptied bottles, packets, scales, and measures on the deck.

The mulatto looked at the disordered pile and made for the ladder.

Marston did not stop him, although he was angry, and kneeling down began to pick up the articles. The bottles were strong and had not broken, and in a minute or two he replaced them and the other things in the box.

Then he went up the ladder and looked out on deck. A lamp hung on the forestay as a beacon for the boats and one could see the sweep of planks and line of the rail. There was n.o.body about and nothing broke the silence. Beyond the feeble glimmer of the lamp it was very dark, but the night was calm and Marston knew the splash of a paddle would carry far.

He crossed the deck and looked over the rail. The water caught a faint reflection and he saw muddy foam and weed float past. The tide was rising and running up the lagoon. One could hardly wade to land and it was obviously impossible to do so without making a noise. Yet his visitor had vanished and he had not heard him go. Marston remembered stories about the Ghost Leopards he had heard in Africa, and laughed, but the laugh was forced.

He went back to the cabin and, shutting the hatch, examined the medicine chest. He did not know if he was surprised to find two articles had gone; one was a bottle of laudanum and the other a packet of new and powerful drugs. The book warned one to be careful about their use.

Marston lighted a cigarette and pondered. He was not certain the bottle and packet were in the box when he got it down, although he thought they were; he had sometimes taken things out when he dosed the crew and he had used laudanum. Moreover, it looked impossible that the mulatto had picked them up. So far as Marston remembered, he did stoop down or stop.

Then, supposing he had taken the stuff, it was hard to see why a man who was half a savage should steal laudanum and the other drug.

If Obeah was like West African Ju-Ju, there were no doubt men who used poison to support their claim to magical power; but strange and virulent poisons could be extracted from tropical plants. Besides the fellow had given Marston a cure for fever. Perhaps he was making a dangerous experiment, but his curiosity conquered his caution and he resolved to try the stuff. Going to the galley, he found some hot water, and as he came back noted that one could see into the cabin through the half-opened skylight. He wondered whether the mulatto had looked down and noted the medicine chest. The brown powder melted, and he swallowed the draught. Then he got into his bunk, and blowing out the lamp, presently went to sleep.

CHAPTER IX

DON FELIX'S REVOLT

When Marston woke in the morning his headache and languidness had gone.

It looked as if the powder the mulatto had left had cured him, and although he did not find the laudanum and packet of drugs, he resolved he would not bother about their loss. In a day or two, small lots of rather valuable cargo began to arrive and one afternoon Marston and Wyndham lounged under the awning and watched the Krooboys transfer goods from a big canoe to the yacht. Four or five negroes from up river put the fiber packages in the hoisting slings.

The men worked slackly, for although the sun was hidden the heat was extreme. A yellow haze covered the sky, but the oily surface of the lagoon shimmered with subdued light. On the other side, the reflection of the mangroves floated motionless, without a leaf quivering. Dark shadow lurked in the caves under the high roots, and here and there the ma.s.sed foliage was touched by dirty white. Marston thought the trees looked as if they were blighted by some foul disease. He hated the mangroves and the smell of mud that hung about the vessel.

"The tides are beginning to get higher," he said. "It will be a relief to leave this dismal spot and go to sea."

"Calling here has paid us," Wyndham rejoined. "We are getting stuff for which dyers and chemists give high prices; stuff I wanted but hardly expected to obtain. In fact, I'll own your mysterious visitor has earned his dash. No doubt he'll turn up again and ask for it."

"D'you reckon he had much to do with our getting the goods?"

Wyndham shrugged. "I understand he promised you the articles you talked about, and they have arrived. If he comes again, I'd like to see him.

Perhaps he could be persuaded to send us something else."

"He asked for you," said Marston, and wondered whether his remark was rash when he saw Wyndham was pondering. Although Bob felt he was perhaps illogical, he did not want Harry to persuade the fellow.

"I think you said his eyes were blue," Wyndham resumed presently. "Well, one does meet a mulatto with blue eyes now and then, and it's perhaps not important that the bottom of his feet was white----"

Wyndham stopped, for a splash of paddles broke the silence, and when a canoe stole out of the shadow across the lagoon Marston said. "We may learn something about him now. Here's your agent, Don Felix."

He thought Wyndham was going to reply, but he hesitated and then crossed the deck as the agent and another man came on board. Marston called the steward, who put a small table under the awning and brought out a bottle of choice liquor they had bought at the last port. The party sat down and Marston studied his guests. On the whole, he liked Don Felix and thought him honest. The fellow's greasy fat face was frank and his black eyes met one's glance squarely. For all that, he thought he did not look well; there was a hint of strain about him and his hand shook when he greedily drained his gla.s.s. The climate, however, was unhealthy, and Marston turned to their other guest.

Father Sebastian was white, although his skin was dark and wrinkled. He was very thin and his threadbare clothes were slack; his hair was white and his eyes were sunk. He looked about with a frank curiosity and Marston imagined it was long since he had been on board a ship and had met civilized white men.

By and by Don Felix began to talk about the cargo and declared that he was puzzled, because he had not received so large a quant.i.ty of valuable goods for some time.

"It looks as if the people in the bush were working," he remarked and added dryly: "They work when they are forced."

Marston told him about the mulatto's visit, and Don Felix's face got dark. He drained his gla.s.s and turning to Father Sebastian repeated Marston's story in awkward French.

"I do not like it," he said, "This foul Bat! I think he is plotting again."

Father Sebastian made a sign of agreement and addressed Marston, whose curiosity was obvious. He spoke slowly, as if it cost him an effort to remember words, but Marston thought his French was good.

"An evil man! He is called the Bat because he likes the dark. Moreover they talk about bats that drink human blood."

"If there are such creatures, why don't you kill them?" Marston asked and glanced at Wyndham. He was smoking a cigarette and looked rather bored, but Marston knew his friend and doubted.

"The Bat is hard to kill. Some have tried, but perhaps I may be luckier," Don Felix answered, and his fat, nervous fingers touched his Spanish knife. Then he shrugged. "All the same, it is possible he kills me!"

The others said nothing. Don Felix was rather theatrical, but Marston thought him strongly moved by anger or fear. By and by Don Felix went to the hatch and examined one or two of the packages the Krooboys were putting in the hold.

"What is this?" he asked. "These packages have a mark I know but I did not buy the goods."

"The shipper will, no doubt, come to you for payment and we'll engage to meet the bill," Wyndham replied. "The stuff is getting very scarce and ought to sell for a good price."

"No!" exclaimed Don Felix angrily. "I buy nothing with that mark! You must stop the boys loading the lot. Send it all back."

"Isn't this ridiculous?" Wyndham asked. "Why do you want us to refuse the goods?"

Don Felix sat down and gripped the arm of his chair hard. "The man whose mark that is is a friend of the Bat's," he said, and his voice got hoa.r.s.e. "I do not know if the goods are his or the other's, but I will not buy the stuff. Bad luck would go with the money one earned by handling it."

He said something to Father Sebastian in rapid creole French and the priest turned to Wyndham.

"It is better that you send back this cargo," he remarked quietly. "Don Felix is an honest man. He has given you advice that may cost him much."

Marston pondered, with his eyes on his guest. Father Sebastian was old and shabby; he had obviously lived long with his savage flock, but he was white. His glance was calm and thoughtful and he had a touch of dignity. Marston thought he knew much about human nature and could be trusted. Don Felix, however, got up and clenched his fist. It looked as if the company of the priest and the others had given him some resolve.

"What do I care about the cost?" he exclaimed in French. "I was afraid and I paid. Me, a good Catholic, I paid that these pigs might serve their devil! But it has gone on long, and now I stop. This dirty Bat will come between me and my employer; he leaves me out. Well, let it be so!" He paused and spread out his hand with a theatrical gesture that Marston thought was meant for the negroes in the canoe. "Now I fight. My trade is my blood. I will kill this Bat!"

Father Sebastian shook his head, but Don Felix turned to Wyndham and resumed in a defiant voice. "You will send back the packages? If not, you must get another agent."