"He is an entire stranger in New Orleans,—never was out here before in his life,—and I don't know what to make of it."
He looked at his watch, retook his seat. "We must get back to the bridge," said he. "Driver, stop at Gaston's,—where we were before,—and go lively."
Now through the pattering rain we hurried on our return trip. We were silent, plunged in thought and anxiety. In some way those two skulkers at Gaston's had become connected in my mind with Amory's disappearance. I could not shake off the impression, and, as though the same train of thought were affecting my companion, he suddenly spoke,—
"You say that those men followed me as I went in, and sprang out into the shrubbery as I came back?"
"Yes; as though to avoid being seen by you."
He took off his forage-cap and looked disgustedly at it a moment.
"Confound this thing! Why didn't I wear my hat?" he muttered; then turned suddenly to me: "Mr. Brandon, when we get back to Gaston's let me have your hat, will you? I would like to take another look in there, and if you will stay in the cab, we will stop this side of the entrance, and I'll go ahead on foot. Here, driver, hold up a moment."
Cabby reined in his horse and turned towards us in surprise. The aide-de-camp sprang out in the rain and began working at the lamp.
"Don't put it out, sir; it's against orders," said the driver.
"Never you mind, driver; I'll be responsible for any row there may be over it. There is reason for it, and a mighty good one. Douse that glim on your side. That's right! Now go ahead, lively as you can, and stop just this side of Gaston's."