it go like that. The wedding must wait until you come back, but I wish you luck."
Wyndham thanked him and when he went off Chisholm pondered. Perhaps he had agreed rather weakly; he had meant to be firmer, but Wyndham had led him to talk about his voyage. Anyhow, the fellow had charm. It was hard to refuse him and Chisholm had seen he was sincere. By and by he got up and lighted his pipe. The thing was done with and he had given his consent. Somehow he had been persuaded and after all if Flora was satisfied —
Chisholm had not stipulated that nobody should be told and Flora's friends had much to talk about. Mabel Hilliard was disturbed, and when Marston came to her mother's house one evening took him to the garden.
"Bob," she said, "I suppose you know Wyndham is going to marry Flora?"
"I do know," said Marston. "In fact, I approve. Flora is nearly the nicest girl I've met. However, I imagine you're not satisfied."
"I am not. Flora has been my friend since we were children. I am very fond of her and think she is quite the nicest girl you have met."
"Bar one!" Marston interposed.
Mabel smiled. "Oh, well, I expect your judgment's biased, Bob. But let me go on, although it's rather awkward ground. Wyndham has charm, he's picturesque; something of the gentleman-adventurer type. I think that's what I mean."
"But you don't like the type? I thought it appealed to a girl's imagination. Anyhow, although we're getting conventionalized, there are gentlemen-adventurers and we have jobs for them yet."
"I am not romantic," Mabel replied, with a twinkling glance. "I like sober men, even if they're sometimes slow; men who keep a promise but don't protest much. One doesn't want to be dazzled. A steady light is enough."
Marston was silent for a moment or two. Mabel's trust moved him and he was half embarrassed. Then he said: "There's a remark of yours I can't let go. No ground you think you ought to venture on is awkward to us. Very well. You don't approve Harry's marrying Flora, but what line d'you want me to take? I can't give him up and you're not going to give up your friend. It wouldn't be like you."
"I want you to stick to him closer than before. Flora and he may need us both. One feels that Wyndham's unstable, and you make good ballast, Bob."
"Well, I suppose I'm heavy enough and you have given me an easy job. It's curious, but not long since I told Harry I'd see him out if he wanted help and yesterday he hinted he'd like a partner for his voyage South. In a way, of course, I don't want to go."
Mabel hid her disturbance and mused. She was modern and sometimes frivolous, but she was very staunch and loved two people well. She did not want Bob to go and yet she thought he ought. Mabel had an instinctive distrust for Wyndham, although she liked him. She felt that with his temperament he would run risks in the South and he must be protected, for Flora's sake. Flora had promised to marry Wyndham and Mabel knew she would keep her word. Well, sober, honest Bob, who was really cleverer than people thought, was the man to take care of him.
"If Wyndham urges it, I must let you go," she said.
Marston gave her a steady glance, and nodded.
"I understand. Of course, I think your notion's ridiculous. Harry doesn't need a fellow like me, but you mean well. Although, in one way, I'd frankly like the trip, in another I'd much sooner stay."
"I know," said Mabel. "You're a dear, Bob."
Then she got up, smiling, and advanced to meet Chisholm and Flora, who came up the garden path.
Wyndham urged Marston to go with him, and a week or two afterwards Flora and Mabel stood on the deck of a paddle tug crossing a busy river mouth. The day was dull and a haze of smoke from two towns hung about the long rows of warehouses and massive river walls. Out in the stream, a small steamer with a black funnel and a row of white deckhouses moved seawards with the tide. The figures grouped along her rail got indistinct, but Flora's eyes were fixed upon two that stood away from the rest, until they faded. Then the African boat vanished behind the towering hull of an anchored liner.
Flora turned and lowered her veil, for her eyes were wet. Chisholm was on board the tug, but he was some distance off. Mabel was near, and her look was strained.
"In a way, it's only a long yachting trip," the latter remarked.
"No," said Flora; "we both know it is not. It's a rash adventure; Harry is going South, as his people all have gone, and some did not come back."
"Of course he'll come back! Travel's safe and easy now. They'll have no adventures, except perhaps, at sea."
"I'm not afraid of the sea," Flora said in a quiet voice. "It's the tropic coast; the big muddy rivers that get lost in the forest, and the dark lagoons among the mangrove swamps. The country's insidious; its influence is strong."
Mabel forced a smile. She thought Flora was not disturbed about the physical dangers, such as fever and shipwreck. It looked as if she knew her lover.
"Anyhow, Bob is going with Harry, and Bob is not romantic," she remarked. "In fact, he's the steadiest, most matter-of-fact man I know. Nothing excites Bob much. It's very hard to carry him away."
Flora gave her a grateful look. Since she must not criticize Harry, they could not be altogether frank, but she saw Mabel understood. The men they loved had very different temperaments, and Bob would be a useful counterbalance. He was sober and practical: one could trust him. It was hard to own that, in a sense, she could not trust Harry. He was rash, and Flora did not like the stories about the Wyndhams who had not come back. However, Bob was going, and she imagined she owed Mabel much.
"I like Bob," she said. "I expect it cost you something to send him with Harry."
"He wanted to go."
Flora put her hand in the other's arm. "But you might have stopped him."
"He's Harry's friend," said Mabel. "I am yours. After all, that counts for something, but we won't talk about it now. Your promising to marry Harry has drawn us closer. It's an extra tie, because all Bob's friends are mine."
The tug's whistle shrieked as she swung across the tide to the landing stage and Flora looked down the river. In the distance, where granite walls and warehouses got small and indistinct, the African boat melted into the smoke and mist. Flora felt strangely forlorn and half afraid.
CHAPTER IV
THE MAN WHO VANISHED
Moonlight glittered on the West African river and it was very hot; the air was heavy, humid, and tainted by miasmatic vapors. Inside the lonely factory, moisture dripped from the beams and the big bare room that opened on the veranda smelt of mildew. Across the river, tangled mangroves loomed through drifting mist that hid the banks of mud about their long, arched roots. Wyndham's schooner, Columbine, rode in midstream, her tall masts and the graceful sweep of her rail cutting black against the silver light. Somebody on board was singing a Kroo paddling song with a strange monotonous air. In the distance one heard the rumble of heavy surf.
The factory was old and ruinous and the agent's hair was going white. He sat opposite Wyndham, at the end of a table about which documents were scattered; a cocktail jug and some glasses occupied the middle. Ellams was haggard and his skin was a jaundiced yellow. Marston lounged in a deck chair, with the perspiration running down his face, and smoked a cigarette.
"I think I have told you all you want to know, and I'm willing to give up my post,"
