Coombs did not cringe, but my tone brought him uneasiness.

“The niggers won’t work,” he returned gruffly.  “Thar ain’t a nigger on the place.”

“Apparently white men enough hanging around.  What ’s the matter with the negroes?”

“Ghosts,” and the fellow laughed.  “Maybe yer’ve seen sum?”

I straightened up, stung by the sneer in his voice.

“No; but I ’ve seen something more to the point—­a murdered man.”

“What?”

“Just what I said.  There was a man killed last night in that back room upstairs.  Shot in the head through the window.  I heard the shot and investigated.  His body lies there now.”

I saw Broussard’s snaky eyes flash across toward Coombs’ face, but the latter remained motionless.

“It’s a damn lie!” he ejaculated roughly.  “There is no body there.”

“Easily settled.  Come with me, and I ’ll show you.”

Rather to my surprise neither objected to the test, and we tramped in single file toward the house.  Some precaution kept me at the rear, and I followed silently when Coombs entered the open door of the kitchen.  Unknown to me there was a narrow back stairway, and we mounted this without exchanging a word.  In the upper hall Coombs threw open the rear door, and, stood aside, not even looking within.

I glanced past him.  There was the furniture as I remembered it, the dirty walls, the opened window.  But the overturned chair stood against the wall, the cards were stacked on the table, and there was no body lying on the floor.  So startled was I by this discovery that I could scarcely credit my eyesight, but was brought to a realization of the truth by Coombs’ harsh laugh.

“Well, where ’s yer dead man?  I reckon ye don’t see none, hey!”

“No,” I insisted, “but I did see one—­twice.  The body lay there where the stain shows on the floor.  It has been carried away within half an hour.”

“A likely story.  Who could do the job?  Nobody round this shebang but Sallie an’ me.  I sure ain’t been in yere, an’ I reckon it wan’t Sallie.  So cut it out, young feller.  After breakfast you an’ I ’ll hav’ a talk, an’ find out a few things.  Come on, Broussard, an’ let ’s talk over that matter o’ ours.”

The two went down the stairs together, and I closed the door of the rear room, and stepped out into the hall.  Sallie was in the kitchen, for I heard her voice questioning the men as they passed through.  Out of the window I caught a glimpse of them both disappearing through the weeds toward the bayou.  As to myself I was more at sea than ever.  The sudden disappearance of the body had left me bewildered, yet more strongly convinced than before that this was no ordinary affair.  Evidences of a plan, of cooperation, rendered the situation serious.  That dead body had not moved itself; human hands had accomplished the deed during the brief period of my