Once he surprised a dusky face in the bush, but his glance roved to the next object in his line of vision in placid unconcern. As he mounted the rise he made for the controlleur's home, strolling along as calmly as though he were on a Batavia lane.
"Duivel noch toe!" Muller exclaimed as the boat returned to the ship. "He is coming here alone." His voice had an incredulous ring as though he half doubted the evidence of his own senses.
Van Slyck's eyes danced with satisfaction, and his saturnine smile was almost Mephistophelian.
"By Nassau, I was right, after all, mynheer," he exclaimed. "He's an ass of a Yankee that Van Schouten is having some sport with in sending him here."
"There may be something behind this, kapitein," Muller cautioned apprehensively, but Van Slyck cut him short.
"Behind this, mynheer? The fool does not even know how to maintain the dignity due his office. Would he land this way, like a pedler with his pack, if he did? Oh, we are going to have some rare sport—"
Van Slyck's merriment broke loose in a guffaw.
"You-you will not do anything violent, kapitein?" Muller asked apprehensively.
"Violent?" Van Slyck exclaimed. "I wouldn't hurt him for a thousand guilders, mynheer. He's going to be more fun than even you."
The frank sneer that accompanied the remark made the captain's meaning sufficiently clear to penetrate even so sluggish a mind as the controlleur's. He reddened, and an angry retort struggled to his lips, but he checked it before it framed itself into coherent language. He was too dependent on Van Slyck, he realized, to risk offending the latter now, but for the first time in their acquaintanceship his negative dislike of his more brilliant associate deepened to a positive aversion.