I felt well satisfied at this identification, which was the first definite assurance that the owner of the Orchid and my neighbor in the café were one and the same. He came out scowling, listened unmoved to the fellow's recital and turned back without a word, while the aggrieved one walked sulkily to his quarters.
But soon Efaw Kotee reappeared, this time with another man, and Smilax became excited.
"Look," he whispered. "Him name Jess. Him bust Smilax head!"
It was the fellow who had drawn back when Tommy and Monsieur went to the gambling rooms, but now without his uniform he seemed coarser and more cruel.
"That makes ten, all told," I whispered.
"Whole lot," was the black's only comment.
They came slowly, talking in low tones. At the water's edge across from us they halted and Jess, pointing to the punt, said something whereupon the older man's face turned dark with anger.
"Echochee!" he called.
No answer; the door of Sylvia's dwelling remained closed.
"Echochee," he called again, and his voice grated hatefully on my nerves, "bring that punt over here!"