We had heard the horseman ride by about nine o’clock. For two hours the patroon fussed and fumed and visited the clock in the hall so often that it scarce seemed to leave time for him to do anything else. I wondered why he should be so anxious about the clock, when he explained the motive all of a sudden.
“Get on your cloak. It is time for us to go. This is the errand I spoke to you about this morning.”
I asked no questions—no one ever did of the patroon, especially when he was in a bad humor. No one ever dared to approach him on a forbidden subject, and I knew enough to know my place if I knew nothing else. So I wrapped myself up warm and the two of us set out on foot. We followed the narrow path that led down to the river. It was steep walking part of the way, but we managed to stumble to the end of it in safety. At the landing we found the patroon’s barge waiting for us. Eight negro slaves were at the oars and an overseer held the tiller.
“Have you seen the signal?” asked Van Volkenberg.
“Yes, about ten minutes ago for the first time, and twice since. He seems to be in a hurry.”
“Very well. Let him know that we are coming. Get in, St. Vincent.”
As soon as we were seated, word was given to the slaves, and the barge shot out into the current, turning southward towards the town.
“I do not like this disappearance of Louis,” said the patroon in a low voice to me. “I have expected him to turn against me for a long time, but I was hardly prepared for it just at this moment. If he comes back he shall feel the lash on his bare back for the fright he has given me.”
“Poor Louis; I hope we shall not find him now.”
“No, this meeting is with someone else. You’ll know who shortly.”