"Rather," I corrected myself hastily, "he finds it more expedient to meet you elsewhere."
"Ah," he said, "that is better. For a moment I feared the captain was dead. So the paper—he still has it?"
"He not only has it," I said, "but he is ready to give it to you—at another place he has named. You are a stranger to the country here?"
My question was not a welcome one.
"Absolute!" he replied with conviction. "Do you take me for a native of these sink holes? Mon Dieu! Does your mud so completely cover me? But surely it must be this cursed darkness, or you would have said differently. Where is this other place?"
I was glad it was too dark for him to see my smile.
"Unfortunately I cannot guide you there," I said, "for I am to stop here in case I am followed. We have had to be careful, very careful indeed—you understand?"
Impatiently he shifted his position.
"For six months," he replied irritably, "I have been doing nothing else—careful—always careful. It becomes unbearable, but where is this place you speak of—in some other bog?"
I pointed to the left of the trees where Mademoiselle was standing.