on his head. Of course, the cloth and everything beneath it went
scattering to the winds, while he tumbled backward into the water. Not
content, she picked up several of the various fruits the tray had held
and began to pepper him with such good aim that he hastily and profanely
splashed back to the other shore. Then the tray, its cover, and the
spilled fruits not already used in the form of ammunition, were
contemptuously tossed in his direction. After this she tied the punt as
though nothing had happened, went back into the house and closed the
door. Smilax was shaking with silent delight.

"Bully," I whispered.

"Good," he said. "Look--water not much deep. We 'member that." Though at
the time I did not see how this held any advantage for us, being
distinctly of less protection for Sylvia.

The man dragged himself up the oozy bank, cursing roundly, and started
post-haste for Efaw Kotee's bungalow. We could hear the water sloshing
in his shoes, and knew that he was quite as uncomfortable in mind as in
body. He did not go upon the porch, but stood below, hat in hand,
calling. Then I saw the old chief--the same man who had paid his supper
check with a new fifty-dollar bill. Smilax squeezed my arm, saying:

"Him boss on yacht."

I felt well satisfied at this identification, which was the first
definite assurance that the owner of the _Orchid_ and my neighbor in the
cafe were one and the same. He came out scowling, listened unmoved to
the fellow's recital and turned back without a word, while the aggrieved
one walked sulkily to his quarters.

But soon Efaw Kotee reappeared, this time with another man, and Smilax
became excited.

"Look," he whispered. "Him name Jess. Him bust Smilax head!"

It was the fellow who had drawn back when Tommy and Monsieur went to the
gambling rooms, but now without his uniform he seemed coarser and more
cruel.

"That makes ten, all told," I whispered.

"Whole lot," was the black's only comment.

They came slowly, talking in low tones. At the water's edge across from
us they halted and Jess, pointing to the punt, said something whereupon
the older man's face turned dark with anger.

"Echochee!" he called.

No answer; the door of Sylvia's dwelling remained closed.

"Echochee," he called again, and his voice grated hatefully on my
nerves, "bring that punt over here!"

Then the door did open, I thought reluctantly, and the Indian woman came
out.

"What you want?" she asked.