Part 15 (2/2)

There was a dubious look in the official's face. And now he had come to dividing his attention between myself and a steamer that was just moving in. He put his binoculars to his eyes. Some moments he looked, and then he turned to us.

”Wait,” he said. ”There is a steamer from your port. I shall be back presently.”

With that he got over the rail and went off in his boat to the steamer.

”Now then,” said Norris, when he was gone, ”there's that skunk's trick.”

”But it's a monkey trick,” said Ray. ”He ought to know we'd have our story to tell.”

”Maybe,” suggested Julian, ”he thought his wines--and maybe some gold--would give greater weight to his story.”

I, too, had got the smell of liquor from the doctor's breath. It was quite probable Duran had been making very friendly with this official.

”Perhaps Duran counted on our going outside the harbor rather than be delayed in quarantine,” said Robert.

”Yes, and that would suit him ver' well,” said Marat. ”He could then try and slip by in thee dark.”

The doctor came back, as he had promised. And he spoke us without again coming aboard.

”That was some mistake about the yellow fever,” he said. ”You will be free to go ash.o.r.e.”

”Well, and what will our voodoo priest try next?” said Grant Norris.

”Next, he'll have us arrested, for disturbing the peace,” said Julian.

”His peace of mind,” added Ray.

Our discussion became serious now. The more Duran sought to shake us, the more important that we observe his every movement.

That he would be going ash.o.r.e into the city was reasonably certain. If we were to see what he did there, it might be well to precede him, and lie in wait. Grant Norris, Robert Murtry, and Julian Lamartine, were selected for this expedition. Julian, like Jean Marat, had a fair command of the Spanish, which was the language of this port.

The three were in the small boat, ready to push off, when I recollected the bit of paper in my pocket, on which I had copied the addresses from Duran's book in the old ruin. There was among them an address in this port. I had out the paper, and called out the name to Julian, Paul Marcel was the name.

We saw the boat of our friends go among the wharves. It was not long till--”There he goes now!” cried Ray, and we saw a small boat moving sh.o.r.eward from the schooner _Orion_.

The moon, approaching its first quarter, set at ten that night, and our three had not returned from the city. The anchor-light on the _Orion_ was all we could see of her.

It was near midnight when I heard the dip of oars approaching, and directly Norris, Julian, and Robert climbed over the rail.

”It was a tame party we had,” grumbled Norris. ”Our friend Duran is back on his schooner.”

”But the address was right,” said Robert.

”Yes,” offered Julian, ”Duran spent most of his time at the home of a Monsieur Paul Marcel; and when he came out on the verandah to go, I heard him appoint to come back tomorrow. And they talked of some kind of party for tomorrow night.”

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