“Ah!” said Dick; for Payne was the dismissed storekeeper. “Why do you want him?”
“I met him a while back and he’d struck bad luck, hurt his arm, for one thing. He’d been working among the breeds on the mole and living in their tenements, and couldn’t strike another job. I reckoned he might want a few dollars, and I don’t spend all my pay.”
Dick nodded, because he understood the unfortunate position of the white man who loses caste in a tropical country. An Englishman or American may engage in manual labor where skill is required and the pay is high, but he must live up to the standards of his countrymen. If forced to work with natives and adopt their mode of life, he risks being distrusted and avoided by men of his color. Remembering that Payne had interfered when he was stabbed, Dick had made some inquiries about him, but getting no information decided that he had left the town.
“Then he’s lodging in this street,” he said.
“That’s what they told me at the wine-shop. He had to quit the last place because he couldn’t pay.”
“Wasn’t he with Oliva?” Dick inquired.
“He was, but Oliva turned him down. I allow it was all right to fire him, but he’s surely up against it now.”
Dick put his hand in his pocket. “If you find him, you might let me know. In the meantime, here’s five dollars——”
“Hold on!” said Kemp. “Don’t take out your wallet here. I’ll fix the thing, and ask for the money when I get back.”
Dick left him, and when he had transacted his business returned to the dam. An hour or two later Kemp arrived and stated that he had not succeeded in finding Payne. The man had left the squalid room he occupied and nobody knew where he had gone.