"Maybe Manuel killed him," came the cheerful suggestion. "Jules, who tell me just now, says Manuel, he have the air very wicked and very pleased when he tell him." Stuart doubted this possibility. Ever since the American occupation of Haiti, in 1915, murder had become less common. The boy thought it more likely that the missing man had been captured and imprisoned. But just what could Manuel be doing if he dared such drastic action? The lad wished that he knew a little more about his father's plans. A small revolver was in his pocket, and, for one wild moment, Stuart thought of making a fight for it and going to the rescue of his father. But his better sense prevailed. Even supposing he could get the drop on the negro--which was by no means sure--he could not mount guard on him perpetually. Moreover, if he got near enough to try and tie him up, one sweep of those brawny arms would render him powerless. "And if I do not go?" he asked. "But you do go," declared Hippolyte. "It is I who will see to that, Yes!" "Was it Manuel who sent you the money?" "Ah, the good money!" The negro showed his teeth in a wide grin. "Manuel, he tell Jules to find boy named Stuart. If you big, tie you and take you to the forest; if little, send you away from the island." This was one point gained, thought Stuart. Manuel, at least, did not know what he looked like. "I suppose I've got to go to Cap Haitien." "But, Yes." "And when?" "But now, Yes!" "It's a long walk," protested Stuart. "Twenty miles or more." "We not walk, No! Get mules near. Now, we start." The boy had hoped, in some way, to get the negro out of the hut and to make a bolt for the woods where he might lie hidden, but this sudden action prevented any such ruse. He turned to the table to put into his knapsack the couple of changes of clothing he had brought. There was no way for him to take his father's clothes, but the boy opened the larger knapsack and took all the papers and documents. "See here, Hippolyte," he said. "I give you all these clothes. I take the papers." The negro grinned a white-toothed smile at the gift. He cared nothing about the papers. He would do what Jules had paid him to do, and no more. As they left the hut, it seemed to Stuart that the nerve-racking beating of the tom-tom sounded louder and nearer. They walked a mile or so, then, as Hippolyte suggested, at a small half-abandoned plantation, they found mules. Once mounted, the negro set off at breakneck speed, caring nothing about the roughness of the road, all the more treacherous because of the dead-black of the shadows against the vivid green-silver patches where the tropical moonlight shone through. "What's the hurry?" clamored Stuart, who could see no reason for this mad and reckless riding. "The dance stop at dawn! I want to be back, Yes!" They galloped on as before. A few miles from the town, Stuart snatched at an idea which flashed upon him suddenly.