He not lord eet over me ven ol' Sallie vas his mother--by Gar!
no!"
"Sallie! You cannot mean that mulatto woman back on the plantation?"
"Sure, the ol' rip."
"Then his name is not Henley?"
"Why not, M'sieur? The ol' Judge was his father."
The whole thing came to me in a flash, as I stared across at the mate,
who scarcely realized yet the revelation made. He was brooding over
his wrongs, and how he was to be avenged.
"Good God!" I breathed, "so that 's the way of it!"
Broussard looked up, a cunning smile on his face. "By Gar, I forget,"
he said softly. "You vas after ze monies too, hey! Bah! eet make no
difference vat you know. He haf you here all right, var' you keep
still or--" and he drew the back of a knife across his throat. "I
vonder he not keel you furst, M'sieur; maybe he use you, an' then, hav'
you shot in ze South. Oui, zat be ze easy vay. Why you ever cum down,
an' claim to be Philip Henley--hey?"
"That was all a mistake," I returned deliberately. "I came merely to
look after his interest?"
"Interest! Why a dead man hav' interest?"
"Do you mean Philip Henley is dead?"
"You pretend not know? By Gar, eet queer. Vell, I tell you, M'sieur.
Ze hole back ov ze picture; I lie there one night an' leesten, week,
ten days ago.
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