“Let things go!” gasped Henry Vivian.
“Why not? Just consider. There’ll be oceans of bother for you if you stir this up. Nothing better could have happened. This wicked scoundrel’s taken off in the nick of time.”
“Hoist with his own petard, indeed!”
“Well, he’s gone—vanished like smoke—an’ nobody will mourn him neither. What could suit you so well? Forget you know anything about it. Why not? All you can do is to hang Jesse Hagan for his share. But, if you arrest him, so like as not he’ll turn round on me an’ say I done it. Then my name comes in, an’ I’d very much rather it didn’t just at present.”
They argued long upon this theme, but Vivian would not give way. His sense of justice and honour made him refuse to let the matter drift, and Daniel’s worldly-wise advice fell on deaf ears. They made a meal, and the negroes who served it looked curiously at the silent coloured man, who ate with their master’s guest; for while others were present Daniel kept dumb. Then, as the day advanced, the horses were again saddled, and Vivian, with Sweetland, rode off to the hut of Obeah.
While the attendants stared to see a ragged negro galloping off on Jabez Ford’s horse, Dan attempted again to convince Henry Vivian that a cynical silence would for the present best meet the case. It was only the thought of Sweetland’s own position, if all came to be laid bare, that made the other hesitate. Vivian, indeed, found himself still in doubt when they returned to the summit of the hill, tied their horses to the opuntia hedge, and returned to Jesse’s dim dwelling.
Profound silence reigned there, and the hut was empty. Neither the distorted corpse of Jabez Ford nor any sign of the Obi Man himself appeared. Hunting in a corner, Daniel found the bottle of dye which had served so effectually to disguise him; and at the same moment Henry Vivian discovered a scrap of paper on the table under the red eye of light that fell from the roof upon it.
“Jesse larf at ropes and bars, but Jesse no larf at Massa Judge at Trinidad who hang him. Jesse tired, so him go to bed along with other gem’men and Marse Ford under the snake-gourd in him garden.”
Daniel rushed out to find this statement true. The Obi Man had flung Ford into the grave prepared for Henry Vivian. He had then jumped in himself and, with a long knife that lay beside him, had severed the arteries of his thighs. A storm of insects rose up and whirled away from the ghastly grave.
“Where’s his spade?” cried Daniel. “Even you will grant there’s but one thing to do for ’em now.”