CHAPTER II
MARSTON GETS A WARNING
It was dark and the mud village was strangely quiet. Thin mist drifted about the house Don Felix had occupied, and Wyndhams' new agent leaned forward slackly with his arm on the table. He was a young French creole, but his face was pinched and careworn.
Marston, sitting in a corner, studied the man. When he last saw Lucien Moreau he was vigorous and marked by a careless confidence. Now his glance was furtive and sometimes he fixed it on the window. There was no glass and the shutters had been left open because the night was hot. Marston remembered Don Felix's disconcerting habit of looking at the window when it was dark. The miasma from the swamps had obviously undermined Moreau's health; but Marston doubted if this accounted for all.
Moreau had been talking for two or three minutes when Wyndham stopped him.
"I understand you want to give up your post?" he said.
"That is so," the other agreed. "For one thing, you do not need an agent when you are closing down your business." He paused and gave Wyndham a sullen look. "Besides, I have had enough."
"Your pay is good."
"Good pay is of no use if one dies before one can spend it," Moreau rejoined.
"Very well," said Wyndham. "If you have had enough, we must try to let you go. However, since your engagement runs for some time, you must stay a month."