Mabel studied Wyndham. It was plain that he did not like Peters and she thought he had some grounds for resenting his attempt to explore the country. Wyndham was a trader and Peters, no doubt, a rival, but she did not think he was altogether moved by commercial jealousy. Somehow the thing went deeper than this. His voice was level, but she saw his calm was forced. Mabel remembered that he had taken some time to light his cigarette. "The half-breeds seem to be a lot of savage brutes," Chisholm remarked. "What stock do they spring from? The Carib?" "The African strain is strongest, and pure negroes are numerous. In Central and part of South America, it's hard to fix the origin of the population. About the cities, they've made some progress and a number of their institutions are good. In the swamps I know best, they have gone back to rules of life the slaves brought from Africa long since. If you want to understand them, that's important." "Do you think the Bat had anything to do with the explorers getting killed?" Marston asked. "We don't know they were killed, and the Bat's rather a bogey of yours," Wyndham replied. "Anyhow, from one point of view, perhaps his efforts to keep out Peters and his gang were justified. The country belongs to the Bat and his friends; their rules are not ours, but they suit the people who use them, and I expect they know what often happens to a colored race when white men take control. Semi-civilization and industrial servitude, forced on you for others' benefit, are a poor exchange for liberty." "You mean their leaders know?" said Mabel. "They would lose their power when the white men came?" Wyndham said nothing for a moment and Marston imagined he was getting impatient. Then Flora gave him a puzzled glance and he smiled. "Did the fellow you thought the Bat look very powerful, Bob?" he asked. "In a way, he did not," said Marston. "He was a dirty, ragged old impostor--and yet I don't know. Perhaps it was his grin, but you got a hint that he was a bigger man than he looked. There was something about him----" "Something Mephistophelian?" Wyndham suggested with a twinkle. "But Mephistopheles was rather a gentleman," Flora remarked. "That's it! You have given me the clew I was feeling for," said Marston. "You felt the old fellow might have been a gentleman long since and had degenerated. Now I come to think of it, his confounded grin was ironical; as if he knew your point of view and laughed at it. In fact, I imagine he laughed at himself; at his claim to be a magician and the tricks he used. A cynical brute, perhaps, but he was not a fool." "Aren't you getting romantic, Bob?" Flora asked.