Tarzan turned on his heel and swung out the door, trotting across the yard. As he reached the shadows surrounding the compound, he heard the snuffling growl of a great ape, and whirled in his tracks. He received a formal greeting, one he really had no time for.

"I am Jedak," came the challenge, "I kill!"

"I am Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle and of all mangani and tarmangani within it. I kill!"

The giant figure advanced from the shadows, pounding its feet upon the ground in a simulated rage. Often, such simulated rages turned into the real thing. Ceremonially, Tarzan pounded his feet upon the ground, and growled, fiercely. Jedak dropped to all fours, strutting in a circle on his knuckles, muttering curses, and Tarzan did the same. Formalities over, the pair straightened. Jedak wiped a clumsy paw across his snout. "I needed to see you, Tarzan. Now, I do not know why."

Jedak was ailing with the curse that had kept the great apes at their stage of civilization for thousands of years; an overwhelming curiosity and a faulty memory. Tarzan was struck with an idea. "I go to make war against a strange enemy. He is said to be stronger than any mangani, any bull."

Jedak went into a chattering rage, stomping about in great circles, ripping up clumps of gra.s.s. "No beast can stand against the mangani," he boasted, thumping his chest in a fashion that threatened to collapse his ribs. "I, Jedak, mightiest of the mangani, say this! Where is this beast? Take me to him. I will tear him to shreds before your eyes!"

"You would have to go," Tarzan said, "in the silver bird."

Jedak paused in his boasting for a split second. "The silver bird? Me? Never!"

Tarzan made a "tcha" of disgust. "Go back to your shes and your pups, Jedak. You grow old. Too old, perhaps, to fight. Perhaps you can kill a dik-dik tomorrow, and stomp and boast about it."

"Wait! I am Jedak. I do not know fear. I got"

"Good. Come along. We leave at once. There will be two others with us. Basuli, my Waziri chieftain, and a strange one, with a most peculiar smell. But needful to us. He is a tracker of such game."

Tarzan turned and walked away. After a moment, Jedak followed. Truthfully, the great s.h.a.ggy ape had no fear in his heart, but the silver bird . . . well, if Tarzan could do it, so could Jedak. Puzzled, the great ape wondered what had driven him with a compulsion to this spot on this night for driven he surely had been!

Chapter 7.

BANQUET OF DEATH.

THE Hon. Freddy Keys-Smythe, together with Al and Charley, had been overwhelmed. There was no other word for it. Overwhelmed. Rifle shots had apparently had no effect upon the great beasts who had captured them. Each had been picked up rather like a rag doll, and the party had started up the snow slope. Struggle was futile. The beasts (Freddy was sure they were yeti) trotted off at a mile-consuming trot. The motion was intolerable, but not nearly so intolerable as the rank, fetid odor given off by their s.h.a.ggy hides. Freddy shuddered, not so much from the cold or the odor, as from the fact that these brutes had literally peeled away the sides of the aircraft, plucking the adventurers out as if they had been peas in a not particularly difficult pod. Well, he thought, with a certain grim amus.e.m.e.nt, we found our yeti. You're a brilliant theoretician, old boy, but something of a clod!

Time began to be unreal. Had they been moving for ten minutes, an hour, two? The blizzard had stopped, and now only the bitter cold remained. Still the yeti showed no signs of slackening their pace. Now they arrived at what appeared to be a snow-cliff. Without break- ing stride, the giant beasts, with their human burdens, climbed an almost vertical path, seemingly without effort. Halfway up the face, the party stopped, while one of the unenc.u.mbered yeti pa.s.sed them on the impossibly narrow trail, and tugged at a hidden boulder. It slid open, revealing a narrow pa.s.sageway, dimly lit by some sort of light which came from nowhere and everywhere. The party filed in, the lone yeti remaining behind to pull the door shut behind them. Nor was the trip yet' over. Once again, with the peculiar mile-consuming trot, the party and its captors raced through what appeared to be miles of tunnels hewn from the living rock. Gradually, it became warmer. They turned off into several different branches of the tunnel, until Freddy was completely confused. He was certain that, if he'd been freed at the moment, he could never find his way back to the surface. Finally, after what might have been a good half-hour, the group reached what appeared to be a dead end of the pa.s.sageway. Here, their captors sat them on their feet, and one of the strange beasts pressed on the door which had been masked by stone. It swung open, and, without further ado, the trio was hustled through. The door closed behind them. They were in a well-lit and luxuriously furnished room. A curiously garbed man faced them. In almost impeccable English, he greeted them: "Welcome. I am Ra-Man, servant to her majesty, Queen Ak-Ahmen. We had word of your accident, and sent servants to fetch you. You will find fresh garments in these quarters, drink on yon table. Her Majesty knows of your presence, and invites you to attend a feast in your honor shortly. Within the hour. Please to consider yourselves our honored guests. I will send slave girls to attend to your needs. Baths, unguents, robing." He bowed, and disappeared through a door near him.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," breathed Freddy. "I'll be eternally d.a.m.ned. Who would have even dreamed it?"

"Not me, that's for b.l.o.o.d.y sure and certain," Al observed. "Slave girls? Lads, I have a feeling we're prisoners, of sorts, but you must admit it's a fine way to be a prisoner. I was in a P.O.W. camp during the late, great conflict, and it wouldn't hold a candle to this treatment. Let's have a snort of that juice, whatever it is, shall we?" Charley had already picked up one of the bottles, unstopped it and was sniffing cautiously. "Funny sort of smell," he commented, "but most definitely alcoholic." He poured out a bit in the cups that accompanied the bottle, raised a drink to his lips, sipped it cautiously. "Ahh. Tasty, in a strange sort of way. Like nothing I've ever tasted before. But it must be a hundred proof, at least. Well, lads, cheers!" He downed it at a gulp, shiv- ered. "That'll take the frost out of your bones, boys!"

"I'm up," Al said, and picking one of the cups from the table, drained it. "Arrghl Good-ol Freddy, you'd best tuck a lip about one of these depth-bombs. Make a new man of you."

Freddy obliged, shuddering as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. "Shouldn't drink much of this, fellows. Best to keep our wits about us, don't you think?"

"Perhaps just one more," Al suggested, tilting the bottle. "It's been a hairy night, after all."

The trio finished their second drink, and Charley had fished out a packet of Players cigarettes, which he pa.s.sed around; as they were lighting up, a quartet of scantily attired slave girls entered, giggling and talking excitedly among themselves. One of the girls went to the far wall, opening a door that had not been readily discernible, and pointed. The Hon. Freddy walked over, looked into the next room. He turned around.

"It's a bathroom, chaps. Marble, no less, and unless I've lost my marbles, the fittings are all ingold. Who's for a hot bath?"

Al thought about this. "I could use one. What about these little darlings, though? Are they in for spectator sports, fun and games or what?"

Charley joined Al at the door, looking over his shoulder. "Lord love a duck, it's a regular swimming pool. How's the water, then, Fred?"

Keys-Smythe bent over, ran a hand through the water. "Hot. d.a.m.ned hot. j.a.panese style."

"I could do with a splash. Well, ladies of the ensemble, ready or not. I'm shedding my clothing." Without fur- ther ado, Charley started to undress. He stopped midway through. "Should hang onto my watch," he observed. "Ah, there's a bit of a shelf." He took his watch off, noting the time, then finished stripping and splashed into the pool, coming up yowling from the heat. "Hoyl I feel like a b.l.o.o.d.y lobster." The slave girls stood about watching with interest, pointing, whispering to each other and giggling. "Ah, what's all that?" Charley said, splashing them with water. "You'll see funnier sights than this before the evening's over, I'll warrant. Well, fellows, aren't you joining me?"

Somewhat more slowly, the other men stripped and jumped into the water. They played about for a few moments, becoming almost torpid. Charley was the first one out, and as he slowly climbed to the edge of the pool, he was greeted with a bucketful of cold water, then a rough towel was wrapped about his body as he was still gasping for breath, and one of the girls began to rub him down thoroughly.

Fred and Al watched this with interest. "Well, Al?"

"Well, Freddy? You're our leader. Set the pace. I don't mind the rubdown, that bucket of cold water has me a bit stymied. After you. Honorable Keys-Smythe."

With sudden resolution, Freddy cried out "Up the Blues!" and sprang from the pool, to be greeted by a buckets of water. Grinning, both Fred and Charley waited for Al. He swam to one end of the pool and back nonchalantly. "Let's get out of there, boy. We've an engagement with her majesty."

Al stared helplessly at the resolute slave girl who stood poised with the water bucket. Suddenly, he sprang over the edge of the pool, shouting, ""There I I've done you in this . . . aaagh!"

"Stiff upper lip, old man," Freddy advised, between convulsions of mirth. "Don't you think those blue b.u.mps do something for him, Charley?"

"Undoubtedly. Looks like a chenille bedspread, doesn't he?"

"Um. Well, lads, shall we see what they have ready for us? We've an audience with her majesty, you know. I suppose it'll be some sort of ceremonial robe, something of the sort. I say, are we honored guests, prisoners, or what?"

"Very funny," Al commented between chattering teeth. "Still, there's a certain element of humor. I say, do cither of you men feel that we're enjoying the traditional last meal of the condemned? This is all too aw- fully smooth, if you follow me. We did get through to Lord Greystoke, didn't we?"

Freddy, being helped into a ceremonial robe by one of the slave girls, frowned. "Yes. Yes, of course we did. I've no idea how much of it he heard. The static was ferocious." He turned, admiring the flow of his silken robe. "I'm sure he knows the approximate location of the plane. I'm equally sure he doesn't know where we are. I certainly don't, at any rate. So far, so good, though, wouldn't you say?"

Charley, already robed and anointed, was back at the bottle of liquor. He poured himself another. "If I am about to die, let me die happy. That is to say, drunk." He lifted his mug in a salute, drank the stuff, visibly staggering when it hit bottom. "There's a fortune in this stuff."

Two of the slave girls were helping Al into his robes when the knock came at the door. The girls prostrated themselves upon the floor, and the door swung open to admit the majordomo, prime minister, or whatever he was.

"Ah," he said, smiling blandly. "I see you are prepared."

"Prepared?" the Hon. Freddy asked. "That's a poor choice of words, isn't it? Dressed, one might say, and eager to meet her majesty. Queen Ak-Ahmen."

Ra-Man smiled blandly. "Just so. Come then. Music, food, dancing girls await you. You are indeed honored guests. Seldom do our yeti bring us Englishmen. The queen is most pleased to receive you. A special section above the amphitheater has been reserved for you."

"Amphitheater?" That was Freddy.

"Of course. Where we hold the games during dinner. Most enjoyable, most refreshing. Please to follow me."

With a shrug and a look at each other, the trio followed the high priest-if that was what he answered to- out the door. Charley cast a glance over his shoulder and winked at one of the slave girls, who giggled and then, unbelievably, winked in return. "I'll be d.a.m.ned," Charley muttered under his breath.

It was not yet daylight, yet the tiny plane, flying high above the forest and the veldt, buzzed along confidently, Tarzan at the controls. Beside him, acting as co-pilot, was Basuli, chieftain of theWaziri, a fierce, proud warrior who had learned, under Tarzan's tutelage, to fly a light plane as well as anyone in the world. In the rear seats sat Teemu, the Sherpa, who had ridden in many aircraft, and behind him sat Jedak, the great ape, muttering and cursing. Teemu seemed oblivious to the fact that he was on the narrow edge of having his jugular vein literally ripped out by the yellow, angry fangs of the great ape.

"I am Jedak," that worthy snarled, "and I kill. Tarzan, this one before me makes my stomach rumble. He truly stinks."

Tarzan glanced over his shoulder. "This is a small matter. He is needful. Rest. Conserve your strength. It will only be a short time, now."

Jedak subsided, still muttering. Actually, now that he was aloft in the silver bird, he rather enjoyed it. The tribe would hear much of this when he returned; Chulk, Taglat, Kerchak, Tublat, Terkoz . . . he would have much to say. What other mangani except Jedak and Tarzan had ever floated above the trees like this? He scratched himself nervously, wishing he had a succulent grub upon which to munch.

Another hour pa.s.sed, and finally the foothills about the base of Mount Kilimanjaro came into view. Tarzan called out instructions. "The snow that the expedition talked of, the blizzard, has stopped. Now, we must keep a sharp lockout for another silver bird, this one upon the ground. Jedak, look out the window. If you see such a thing, tell me."

Jedak grunted, started to look out the window. He felt a bit dizzy, but height actually meant little to him. He and his ancestors before him had been raised in the giant trees of the jungle, many of them rearing to heights of a hundred feet or more, Teemu, without instruction in any language he could comprehend, nevertheless instinctively knew that which they were searching for, and Tarzan turned the controls over to Basuli, himself looking downward through the night. "Take it down to two hundred feet, Basuli," he ordered, and they circled slowly, seeking, seeking.

"I think," Jedak growled, "yes, I think I see a bird. A silver bird. With one wing in the air and the other under the snow. Just below us."

Slowly, Basuli turned the plane, so that all might look.

There it was. The expedition's plane, from which had come the extraordinary signal some hours before. "Take us up, Basuli," Tarzan ordered, and stepped back into another compartment, where he discarded some of his gear, putting his body into a fleece-lined flying suit, and fur-lined boots. He glanced at Teemu. Teemu was as bundled up against the cold as one could get. Question- ingly, Tarzan pointed to the ground, then made a motion as of a man parachuting downward. Teemu nodded, knowing exactly what Lord Greystoke meant. Tarzan glanced at Jedak, and decided there was little one could do for him.

"Jedak," Tarzan said, "will you follow me? It is needful to truss yourself to a sort of harness that will lower you, very gently, to the ground. We shall go arm in arm, like true brothers. If one dies, both die. It is not without risk. Well?"

"Where Tarzan goes," growled the ape, "Jedak can also go."

"Good." Tarzan busied himself, as the small plane climbed for alt.i.tude, ingetting out the parachutes. Je- dak's chute took considerable adjustment, but Tarzan finally managed to slip it over the great ape's immense shoulders. Teemu, who had often dropped from planes and helicopters in his chosen profession as a guide, slid into his smoothly.

Tarzan strapped his own chute onto his broad shoulders, and checked the altimeter.

"Basuli, after we jump, take the plane back to safe country, land and seek out your scouts. Then I want you to bring the rest of the party to the wrecked plane. We will establish contact with you in a couple of days. Understood?"

"Understood. We now have six hundred feet. Another hundred?"

"Circle, Basuli. This should about do it. Let's open the door." He motioned to the Sherpa. "All right, Teemu, out you go!" Without hesitation, the Sherpa stepped out the door, fell a few feet and pulled his ripcord. The giant envelope blossomed over his head.

"Jedak. You and I, together. Like true brothers." He knew better than to ask the ape to count to ten and pull the ripcord. Apes could only count to three. Jedak swallowed mightily, but allowed Tarzan to encircle him with an arm. The pair leaped together. Tarzan counted "five" and reached across to pull Jedak's ripcord, then dropped free for a second and pulled his own. Both chutes opened, and the strangely a.s.sorted trio floated to the ground.

It was Jedak's first experience with snow, and he came to his feet with pendulous lips snarled back, yellow fangs snapping at the insubstantial stuff, howling dire curses and threatening the very life and limb of the accursed Tarzan. He fought futilely against the shrouds of his parachute, and finally, in an entangled ma.s.s, wallowed in the snow. Tarzan, who had unsnapped his own harness as soon as he'd touched down, became weak from laughter at the sight of the enraged and outraged brute. Even Teemu, who had been until now somewhat overawed by the size and obvious savagery of the great ape, started to laugh. Jedak became more enraged than ever, and the more his anger mounted, the more tightly did his bonds envelop him, until Tarzan, unable to see the poor beast subjected to any more self-inflicted torture, slapped over and, avoiding the snapping anthropoid fangs, unclipped the harness and unwound several of the shroud lines. Freed, Jedak was, if possible, more indignant than ever. He stormed about, tossing up great handfuls of snow, screaming, beating his breast, making short rushes toward Tarzan and an alarmed Teemu, threatening to disembowel them, to stomp them into the very snow beneath them. Tarzan stood calm, waiting for the anthropoid's anger to expend itself. Finally, Jedak ran out of things to say. A few final curses spilled from his mouth, then he calmed down. He snuffled. "It is very cold here," he complained. "Why do we just stand here? Why do we not move? There must be a place to go, else why would we subject ourselves to such pain and torture?"

"Why, indeed?" Tarzan answered. "We seek the lair of a mysterious creature called the 'yeti.' This one," and he indicated Teemu, the Sherpa, "is most expert in these matters. First, we must make our way to the silver bird which will fly no more. From there, this one will lead us."

Jedak looked unconvinced, but willing. "Let it be so. Only let us not stand here in the cold, the bitter cold. Let us move."

Daylight was just breaking. The oddly a.s.sorted trio could see the rays of the morning sun glinting off the fuselage of the downed aircraft. Tarzan waved at it, and they moved off in that direction, Teemu, the Sherpa, now in his native clement, as enthusiastic as a bird dog out flushing quail. He fairly bounded through the snow. Tarzan followed more stoically, and Jedak brought up the rear, still raging and cursing at the unfamiliar substance, at the bitter cold, at Tarzan and at the foolish impulse that had brought him along on such a completely outlandish trip.

Reaching the downed plane, they circled it. The blizzard, which had long since blown itself out, had eliminated just about any tracks, but the Sherpa, holding out his arms in a "halt" signal, dropped to his knees and blew his breath across the snow, lifting a faint powder. He nodded to himself with satisfaction, moved forward about a yard, repeated the strange gesture. Then he looked at Tarzan and grinned, beckoning him forward. Teemu pointed to the ground. There was a faint indication of . . . something. "Yeti!" Teemu exclaimed.

"Yeti?"

Teemu nodded, highly pleased with himself. Again, he scrabbled forward in the snow for about three or four feet, blew the fine powder away, pointed down to a huge footprint, which was clearly outlined. "Yeti!" He stood, rubbing the snow from his hairy garments, then pointed upward. "Yeti." Tarzan nodded to a.s.sure the Sherpa that he understood, then waved him forward. "We are on the trail of the strange beast," Tarzan told Jedak. "You would do well to be alert and silent, cunning. They are very huge, very savage, very strong."

Jedak, who had stopped to examine the more obvious footprint, snuffled. "I have not seen one, so I cannot say. Certainly," the ape added, with a surprising sense of humor, "if this is an example, they have big feet."

The three figures made their ways slowly, cautiously up the snow slope.

They were not un.o.bserved, however.

Several miles behind the jump spot, where Teemu, Tarzan and Jedak had stepped off into s.p.a.ce, Basuli selected a clear strip, and brought the small plane down safely. He was an incongruous figure as he stepped from the airplane, a beplumed, fully equipped Waziri chieftain. That is to say, aside from aloincloth of leopard skin, a lion's tail attached to his belt, leggings of boarskin, and many necklaces about his neck of alternating crocodile and lion's teeth, plus his a.s.segai, or spear, Basuli was more or less naked, as unlikely a pilot as one might encounter in a lifetime.

Basuli brought out a tarpaulin, hurriedly covering the engine, then pegging it into the ground as protection against any unforeseen wintry blasts. This done, the Waziri started to backtrack, to find his advance party of scouts. The fleet-footed warriors shouldn't be too far away. He sensed danger, and he wanted his warriors at his back. It was still so cold that the very air seared Basuli's lungs, but he trotted doggedly along, never slackening pace. Fortunately, his course was mostly downhill. Now it was a question of time. He paused from time to time, to test the ground under his feet. Certainly, it seemed to him, the lorries and the Land Rovers should be able to drive right up to the aircraft. From there, it would be a matter of packing in equipment and fire- power to the downed aircraft of the Hon. Freddy Keys-Smythe, and from there, a simple matter of following an obvious spoor.

Freddy, Al and Charley were hailed forth from their rather luxurious "prison" quarters, and led to a vast amphitheatre. Row upon row of seats, banquettes and tables surrounded an arena. They were escorted to a semi- private sort of loge, attended by three slave girls, one for each of them. The arena was filling up with people. Meanwhile, during what might bebest described as a pre-games ceremony, the slave girls brought them more of the strange, aromatic beverage, offering them cups of it, holding it to their lips. A rather musky perfume seemed to fill the air, and there was a crowd noise, as of antic.i.p.ation.

"It sounds," Charley remarked, waving away a slave, "as if they're getting ready for a rugger match."

"Yes," Al agreed. "But you know something, old man? I have a most uncomfortable feeling about all this. Freddy? Are you happy?"

Keys-Smythe shook his head. "No. What do you make these people out to be, anyway? Oriental, yet not quite."

Before either Charley or Al could answer, a gong sounded, so loudly and so commandingly that all conversation stopped. In silence, the entire a.s.semblage waited. From a shadowy alcove somewhere in the rear of the arena, armed guards, highly oiled, appeared. Following the guards came slave girls, waving incense braziers, and then, in a litter, perhaps the most beautiful woman any of the trio had ever seen. She was carried to a box directly above the arena, helped to her feet. Freddy noted that their erstwhile friend, Ra-Man, was very much in evidence. The woman was escorted to a huge, golden throne. She sat there, immobile, for a pause that seemed like many minutes, although it was really only seconds. She slowly turned her head, looking directly at the three captives. Without taking her glance from them, she clapped her hands, softly. Immediately, a group of musicians filed into the arena, beneath the spectators, and took up their positions. At a wave from Ra-Man, they started to play an Oriental type of music, and from both ends of the amphitheatre, dancing in the sand that covered it, came twenty, thirty beauteous slave girls.

The queen turned her burning gaze to the spectacle below, watching with hooded eyes. The weird music swirled, as the girls, all but nude, twisted and writhed to the pace of the frenetic flageolets and drums. One girl faltered, missing a step, and the queen raised her arm. The music stopped immediately. The queen pointed to the offending dancer, and at once a giant guard stepped out from beneath the royal box. He picked up the offending dancer, and looked at the queen. She nodded, and with no more emotion than cracking a walnut, the giant guard snapped the girl's spine across his knee, then tossed her carelessly to the sidelines. The music started again, and the dancers continued their routine.

Keys-Smythe was studying the queen's face as this event transpired, and he noted that her nostrils had flared with satisfaction. "Lads," he said, softly, "yon'sa mean woman."

"Aye," Al agreed, holding up his cup to one of the slave girls. "I think I'll have another small belt of the booze. Tomorrow seems so very far away!"

Chapter 8.

BURKE'S LAW.

FROM the outset, the safari, consisting of loads of equipment, stacked high and really, upon a bit of hindsight, too much for their limited transport, had been cursed. They'd gotten under way shortly before noon. Arthur Burke had explained, as best he could, what Lord Greystoke had expected, wanted. Jane, in turn, had translated into Waziri. Loading alone was a problem. One crate, marked "Z-112" (and Burke had no idea at all what that meant) had slipped and crushed the foot of a perfectly good warrior, which immediately put the rest of the warriors into somewhat of a temper. Next, one of the Land Rovers would not start. There was no good reason for it. Tarzan's chief mechanic a.s.sured Burke, through Lady Greystoke, that "such devils are often unpredictable," and Burke fully expected a witch doctor to show up in full regalia to exorcise the devils that lurked within the mechanism.

Once under way, Burke had just heaved a sigh of relief when the axle on the leading lorry had snapped. There was no shade in sight, and it was two sweltering hours before the necessary repairs could be made. The newspaperman was meanwhile turning a bright strawberry red from the unremitting glare of the noonday African sun, and was perfectly aware of the fact that he was cutting somewhat less than a heroic figure in the eyes of Lady Greystoke, his fiancee Patricia Newhall and the a.s.sorted porters and Waziri warriors and drivers who formed the intrepid band of devil-may-care adventurers who were riding forth to the rescue, much as the cavalry rode forth to the rescue (if his American history served him) of the settlers from the Comanche Indians.

Finally repaired and under way again, Burkc was horrified to see the second lorry in line, immediately ahead of him, swerve, run off the track and crash into a tree. They had been on their way three hours, across perfectly flat and level country, and it seemed unlikely that conditions would be more ideal for the balance of the trip. With a grim despair, Burke climbed down, beckoning to Jane to translate for him. Together they approached the lorry, which obviously had sustained a certain amount of damage. Clouds of steam arose from the bonnet. Quite obviously the radiator was all wrapped up. Burke felt the perspiration streaming down his neck, and was acutely aware of a small cloud of insects that formed about him, getting into his nostrils. He swiped at them halfheartedly. "Lady Greystoke," he said, "please ask what happened. What has gone wrong."

Jane chattered a few words in Waziri, then turned to Burke. "The driver had a sunstroke."

Burke's jaw dropped. "Good G.o.d! But he's a . . . a native!"

"Just so. Still, Mr. Burke, natives are human. They have their limits, too, you know. Ah, goodi Here comes the chief mechanic."

Burke took off his cork helmet, mopping his brow. "Good. I expect he can tell us how long repairs will take. I must say. Lady Greystoke, that this has hardly been an auspicious start. What does the chap say?"