"Oui, M'sieur."
"Are we near the sea?"
"Twenty-seex mile. You not know where you are? 'Tis odd you not know, M'sieur."
I laughed, enjoying his bewilderment, yet not realizing how to turn it to better account.
"Oh, no. I came by train in the night, and am a little hazy as to location. You live about here?"
"Som'time; then off again—sailor."
I nodded to prove I understood, but the man stopped uneasily.
"Whare Coombs? You know, M'sieur?"
"No, I don't," I acknowledged. "Asleep in his cabin likely."
The Creole, for such he undoubtedly was, made a swift resolve.