Part 3 (1/2)

”Ah, thad is your man!” said Jules Sevier, when he had repeated to me what the woman told. ”Thad is your man. Duran he is on this island, Mordaunt w'en he is in Jamaica, or where not.”

In an hour, appeared Captain Marat and Robert. While they were not a little entertained by the account of my last night's experiences, they found greater interest in the news of the morning.

”We're on his trail now,” declared Robert.

”Yes,” agreed Marat. ”Now it weel not be hard to find heem, I theenk.”

But Jules Sevier had a word to say. He spoke rapidly in French with Jean Marat for some minutes; then he turned to Robert and myself.

”I have explain' to Captain Marat,” he said, ”thad eet will not do to spik weeth the authorities about thees matter. The authorities are too much in the voodoo themselv'. You weel have to keep quiet about thees business, except w'en you know with whom you spik. The voodoo are ver'

strong in thee government here.”

Sevier left his shop in the care of an a.s.sistant, and accompanied us to the sh.o.r.e. He gave us much valuable information about the region to which we were going, and advice as to our dealing with the natives.

Before we stepped into the boat he held out a small parcel to me.

”Here is some supply of the paint,” he said, ”and the two black wigs.

They may be of use to you, if you go back in the country. Remember these people ver' suspicious of white men.”

It was with some relish that we up anchor and away from that city of stenches. The heat was oppressive, of which we got some relief when well out to sea.

What with squalls, followed by dead calms, which in turn flung us about, and then held us much off our course, it was some days before the _Pearl_ finally approached the land again, this time on the north coast of this island of towering peaks.

We delayed the noon meal until we had cast our anchor within the sheltering reefs. Our first care was to search the harbor for some vessel answering the description of the _Josephine_, owner M. Duran. And we were in no doubt that Duran and Mordaunt were one and the same. Both our boats were lowered, and manned by two parties of searchers: Captain Marat, Ray, and Robert went in one, Grant Norris, Julian Lamartine, and myself set off in the other. There were sailing vessels a plenty in the harbor, but not one whose appearance touched our present interest. But when our boat returned to the _Pearl_, the three of us a bit dejected over our non-success, we found the others awaiting us, and having a different story. They had not found the schooner we sought, but they had at any rate come across news of her. Captain Marat had chanced to speak with the first officer of a steamer in from Kingston on the day before.

”This man say,” exclaimed Captain Marat, ”thad w'en the steamer come in, he see the _Josephine_, which he recognize to have seen in Kingston harbor, and she have a new name painted on--_Orion_. An' ver' soon after, he see the _Orion_ sail away out of the harbor.”

At this last bit I felt my heart fall.

”Don't cry yet, Wayne,” said Ray, ”wait till you hear the rest.”

And then Jean Marat went on to relate how he had continued his inquiries, with the result that he had found a sailor whose vessel had lain near the _Orion_ and who told of seeing a white man of the _Orion_ go to sh.o.r.e in a boat, into which had been put a basket of unusual proportions. This sailor had been quite sure that the white man had not returned aboard when the schooner _Orion_ had sailed away.

We were all now in a flutter of excitement; it was the recollection of the story of the big basket that had been taken aboard the boat, together with the two blacks, beyond Portland Point, in Jamaica.

Whatever doubts we had held of our being on the right track were thus dispelled.

Night had fallen quickly while we talked, all squatting in a circle on the deck. I could hear Rufe mumbling to himself, and rattling pans in the galley. The sailors, leaning on the rail, forward, were watching the lights of the city.

”We have now only to find Mordaunt--or Duran--and the big basket,” said Julian. ”It looks like everybody notices that basket.”

”Yes, that is the first step,” agreed Norris. ”But that city over there is big, and there's no telling when this Duran will throw the basket aside.”

”Yes,” said Robert, ”when he gets the little one among the voodoo folks he won't have any more use for the basket.”

”Say!” broke in Ray, ”I don't believe a man can turn over a little kid to the voodoos to be killed that way, unless he's a voodoo himself. This Mordaunt--Duran, or whatever his name is--is just bluffing, to make the Cambons give in to him. All he wants is to set up housekeeping, with Miss Josephine Cambon as Mrs. Duran.”

”Ah, no,” said Captain Jean Marat, ”this man have mix' blood; ver' many of the mulatto' are ver' cruel; and mos' of these men who have ver' near all white blood are the mos' cruel. They like best of anything to have vengeance. The more exquisite they can make the suffering of others, the more exquisite the pleasure they feel.”

I had been very late dropping off to sleep, troubled as I was with thoughts of little Marie and her danger. It seemed I had barely closed my eyes, when Rufe came beating a pan about our ears. ”De sun soon up,”

he said. ”Dey ain' no mo' sleep foh de weary.”