In the evening Marston sat in the little stern cabin. It was very hot and his brain was dull but he did not want to go to bed until the crew arrived. Moisture dripped from the ceiling and flies hovered round the lamp that hung at an angle to the beams. The skylight was open a few inches and although the opening was covered by mosquito gauze one could not keep out the flies. Marston hated their monotonous buzzing, for there is something about a mangrove swamp that frays a white man's nerves. Water lapped against the planks and now and then there was a splash in the mud. The tide was flowing and Marston imagined the water round the vessel was three or four feet deep. It looked as if Wyndham meant to stay away all night, and Marston wondered with a slight uneasiness what was keeping him. A mahogany medicine chest stood on the small swing table. It was of the type supplied to British merchant ships, but larger, and the London chemists had fitted it with the latest drugs used in the tropics. There was a book about them and Marston had meant to re-arrange the bottles and packets, which had got displaced. He was not a doctor, but he had studied the book and found it interesting. Tropical diseases were strange and numerous, and he had made some cautious experiments on the crew. Now his head ached rather badly and he wondered whether he would take some quinine. Presently he put down the book and listened. Something had disturbed him, but for a few moments he only heard the splash of the tide. Then the scuttle over his head opened and a naked foot felt for the ladder. The foot was white underneath, but although he was somewhat startled, Marston did not think this strange. He had noted that negroes' and mulattos' soles are often lighter in color than the rest of their skin. He sat still until a half naked man, who came backwards down the ladder, turned and confronted him with an apologetic smile. The fellow was old and his face was wrinkled and a curious yellow color. Marston had in Africa seen badly jaundiced white men look something like that, although the sickly tint was not so dark. A network of red veins covered his eyes but they looked as if they had been blue. His hair was all white. He put a small carved calabash on the table and then squatted on the cabin floor. Marston frowned and waited. The carving had an African touch and it was an African custom for a visitor to bring a present. The negroes called it a _dash_. "Cappy lib for village?" the mulatto remarked and Marston nodded. He had not heard a canoe and wondered how the fellow got on board, since his thin cotton clothes were dry. Moreover, although the half-breeds Marston had met generally used creole French or uncouth Castilian, the other said _lib for_, like a West African. "Bad country; white man sick too much. You sick now?" the mulatto resumed, glancing at the chest.