"I am afraid. One is always afraid here," Moreau admitted. "It has been worse since you did not send the goods you promised." "We will send no more," said Marston firmly and they talked about something else until they heard steps outside and a man came in. He was a big, dark-skinned fellow and carried a thick blanket folded across his shoulder. His feet and the most part of his thin legs were bare, his chest and arms were powerful, and he looked truculent. He glanced at Marston curiously and then turned to Wyndham. "Have you brought payment for my goods?" he asked in uncouth Castilian. "We have," said Wyndham. "Señor Moreau has a list of the cargo and we will begin to unload in the morning. Tell him what we have brought, Don Lucien." Moreau did so and the other frowned. "These things are of no use to me." "They are standard trade goods that count as money," Wyndham replied. "You know what we wanted," said the other and added, meaningly: "In this country, it is not prudent for a stranger to disown his debts." "We are not cheats," Marston rejoined. "The stuff is all good, but we are willing to pay in money." Wyndham stopped him and turned to the mulatto. "If you are not satisfied, send your master. We do not dispute with servants." Moreau looked alarmed, as if he thought the reply would provoke the other, but Wyndham gave him a peremptory glance, and he said a few words in Castilian. The mulatto smiled, a rather cruel, knowing smile. "One needs courage to dispute with the Bat. It is not often people in his debt want to see him." "All the same, we want to see him." "I doubt if he will come. The custom is to send a present and ask leave to visit the Bat; but I will take your message." "And what about the goods?" Wyndham asked. "I can do nothing until I get an order." "Then we'll send them up the creek and put them in the store. You can let them remain or take them, as you like. We have paid our debt." "I doubt," said the other grimly and with an ironical salutation went off. Marston felt relieved when he had gone, and soon afterwards he and Wyndham walked through the silent village to the creek. There were no lights, the quietness and gloom were disturbing and Marston noted that the negroes had not left the boat. He thought they were glad when Wyndham told them to shove off. "We have made our first move. I expect you don't see the next," he said. "Not yet," Wyndham agreed. "It depends on our antagonist. I think he'll understand our challenge, but it's going to be an intricate game." Marston lighted his pipe and tried to think about something else. He hated intrigue and liked to see his path. It was a relief when _Columbine_'s lights began to twinkle in the mist, and he went to the cabin when they got on board. The little room was very hot and no air seemed to pass the gauze beneath the skylight, but the glow of the brass lamp was comforting. He owned that he had begun to fear the dark.