There was something in his appearance that held back
the loose talk at the end of Concombre's tongue. And so it was
Carrigan himself who spoke first.
"When will this man St. Pierre come to see me?" he demanded. "If
he doesn't come soon, I shall go to him."
For an instant Concombre's face darkened. Then, as he bent over
the sweep with his great back to David, he chuckled audibly, and
said:
"Would you go, m'sieu? Ah--it is le malade d'amour over there in
the cabin. Surely you would not break in upon their love-making?"
Bateese did not look over his shoulder, and so he did not see the
hot flush that gathered in David's face. But David was sure he
knew it was there and that Concombre had guessed the truth of
matters. There was a sly note in his voice, as if he could not
quite keep to himself his exultation that beauty and bright eyes
had played a clever trick on this man who, if his own judgment had
been followed, would now be resting peacefully at the bottom of
the river. It was the final stab to Carrigan. His muscles tensed.
For the first time he felt the desire to shoot a naked fist into
the grinning mouth of Concombre Bateese.
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