"There you are!" said Marston, throwing down the articles. "Now get off!"
"I lib for see Cappy Wyndham," the other objected.
"Get off the ship," said Marston. "Don't come back!"
He wondered how the man would go. There was no canoe about and the water round the vessel was three or four feet deep; she lay obliquely to the beach. It was ridiculous to imagine the other had vanished on his last visit, but Marston had not seen how he went. Now, however, he meant to watch.
The mulatto picked up the load of rubbish and went forward along the deck. He jumped on the end of the bowsprit and Marston smiled, for it looked as if he could not use his tricks when one kept one's eye on him. Balancing himself cautiously, he walked along the spar and melted in the dark. But in a few moments there was a splash and Marston knew he had dropped from the bowsprit's end into shallow water. Somehow this was soothing and he went to the cabin. In an hour or two Wyndham returned and when they lighted their pipes after supper Marston remarked:
"The old fellow Don Felix imagined was the Bat turned up again."
"Ah," said Wyndham, who looked interested. "Don Felix hadn't seen him; we don't know he is the Bat."
"Father Sebastian agreed that he was, and I haven't much doubt. He said the man was evil and I think evil's the proper word. He gives me a strange nervous shrinking. Have you felt a kind of nausea when you looked at something repulsive? Well, I feel like that when he's about."
"As a rule, you don't let your imagination carry you away," Wyndham remarked. "I expect the heat and the dismal surroundings account for much."
"Anyhow, I gave him a dash and ordered him off the boat."