He thought Wyndham was going to reply, but he hesitated and then crossed the deck as the agent and another man came on board. Marston called the steward, who put a small table under the awning and brought out a bottle of choice liquor they had bought at the last port. The party sat down and Marston studied his guests. On the whole, he liked Don Felix and thought him honest. The fellow's greasy fat face was frank and his black eyes met one's glance squarely. For all that, he thought he did not look well; there was a hint of strain about him and his hand shook when he greedily drained his glass. The climate, however, was unhealthy, and Marston turned to their other guest. Father Sebastian was white, although his skin was dark and wrinkled. He was very thin and his threadbare clothes were slack; his hair was white and his eyes were sunk. He looked about with a frank curiosity and Marston imagined it was long since he had been on board a ship and had met civilized white men. By and by Don Felix began to talk about the cargo and declared that he was puzzled, because he had not received so large a quantity of valuable goods for some time. "It looks as if the people in the bush were working," he remarked and added dryly: "They work when they are forced." Marston told him about the mulatto's visit, and Don Felix's face got dark. He drained his glass and turning to Father Sebastian repeated Marston's story in awkward French. "I do not like it," he said, "This foul Bat! I think he is plotting again." Father Sebastian made a sign of agreement and addressed Marston, whose curiosity was obvious. He spoke slowly, as if it cost him an effort to remember words, but Marston thought his French was good. "An evil man! He is called the Bat because he likes the dark. Moreover they talk about bats that drink human blood." "If there are such creatures, why don't you kill them?" Marston asked and glanced at Wyndham. He was smoking a cigarette and looked rather bored, but Marston knew his friend and doubted. "The Bat is hard to kill. Some have tried, but perhaps I may be luckier," Don Felix answered, and his fat, nervous fingers touched his Spanish knife. Then he shrugged. "All the same, it is possible he kills me!" The others said nothing. Don Felix was rather theatrical, but Marston thought him strongly moved by anger or fear. By and by Don Felix went to the hatch and examined one or two of the packages the Krooboys were putting in the hold. "What is this?" he asked. "These packages have a mark I know but I did not buy the goods." "The shipper will, no doubt, come to you for payment and we'll engage to meet the bill," Wyndham replied. "The stuff is getting very scarce and ought to sell for a good price." "No!" exclaimed Don Felix angrily. "I buy nothing with that mark! You must stop the boys loading the lot. Send it all back." "Isn't this ridiculous?" Wyndham asked. "Why do you want us to refuse the goods?"