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.

"'Tis like, M'sieur. I find out, maybe you come too!"

The last was more of an order than a question, and the fellow stepped
back slightly in a manner almost a threat. Understanding the
significance of the gesture I gave it no apparent heed, but turned in
the direction of the cabins. I had no reason to avoid Coombs; indeed,
I desired to see him, and I had no intention of permitting this lad to
suppose that I feared his veiled threats. Without so much as glancing
back at him I advanced along the footpath, my hands in my pockets. Yet
my mind leaped from point to point in eager speculation. The whole
thing was puzzling. I had come expecting a mere bit of play-acting,
with all details left in the control of others. I anticipated no more
than a few weeks of idleness, with, perhaps, the overseeing of a
plantation, to partially keep my time occupied. Instead I found myself
instantly involved in a network of mystery where even murder was part
of the play. Little as I liked Coombs, this Creole was even more
dangerous. The one was a rough, the other a venomous snake. So far as
the original purpose of my adventure was concerned it had already
largely faded from recollection. The swift recurrence of more
startling events dominated. The spirit of adventure, with which I was
liberally endowed, was fast taking possession of all my faculties.
Whatever mystery surrounded this house, whatever of crime lurked in the