"Now let them up!" she said.

The Arabs lifted us to our feet.

"Loose them!"

The expert of the three slipped the knots like a wizard doing parlor tricks; but I noticed that the other two held their knives extremely cautiously. We should have been dead men if we had made a pugnacious motion.

"Now you may go! Unless Lord Montdidier agrees with me, the only safety for any of you is away from Africa! Go and tell him! Go!"

"I'll give you your answer now!" said Will.

"No, you don't!" said I, remembering Monty's urgent admonition to tell her nothing and ask no questions. "Come away, Will! There's nothing to be gained by talking back!"

"Right you are!" he said, laughing like a boy again--this time like a boy whose fight has been broken off without his seeking or consent.

Like me, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped blood from his neck.

The sight of his own blood--even such a little trickle as that--has peculiar effect an a man.

"By Jiminy, she has scratched the wrong dog's ear!" he growled to me as we went to the door together.

"They're all in there!" I said excitedly, when the door slammed shut behind us. "Hurry down and get me a gun! I'll hold the door while you run for police and have 'em arrested!"

"Piffle!" he said. "Come on! Three Sultan's witnesses and two lone white women against us two--come away! Come away!"

Monty and Fred were still out, so we went to our own room.

"I'm wondering," I said, "what Monty will say."

"I'm not!" said Will. "I'm not troubling, either! I'm not going to tell Monty a blessed word! See here--she thinks she knows where some o' that ivory is. Maybe the government of German East Africa is in on the deal, and maybe not; that makes no present difference. She thinks she's wise. And she has fixed up with the Sultan to have him claim it when found, so's she'll get a fat slice of the melon. There's a scheme on to get the stuff, when who should come on the scene but our little party, and that makes 'em all nervous, 'cause Monty's a bad man to be up against. Remember: she claimed that she knows Monty and he knows her. She means by that that he knows she's a desperado, and she thinks he'll draw the line at a trip that promises murder and blackmail and such like dirty work. So she puts a scare into us with a view to our throwing a scare into him. If I scare any one, it's going to be that dame herself. I'll not tell Monty a thing!"

"How about Coutla.s.s the Greek?" said I. "D'you suppose he's her accomplice?"

"Maybe! One of her dupes perhaps! I suspect she'll suck him dry of information and cast him off like a lemon rind. I dare bet she's using him. She can't use me! Shall you tell Monty?"

"No," I said. "Not unless we both agreed."

He nodded. "You and I weren't born to what they call the purple.

We're no diplomatists; but we get each other's meaning."

"Here come Monty and Fred," said I. "Is my neck still b.l.o.o.d.y? No, yours doesn't show."

We met them at the stairhead, and Monty did not seem to notice anything.

"Fred has composed a song to the moonlight on Zanzibar roadstead while you fellows were merely after-dinner mundane. D'you suppose the landlord 'ud make trouble if we let him sing it?"

"Let's hope so!" said Will. "I'm itching for a row like they say drovers in Monty's country itch for mile-stones! Let Fred warble.

I'll fight whoever comes!"

Monty eyed him and me swiftly, but made no comment.

"Bill's homesick!" said Fred. "The U. S. eagle wants its Bowery!

We'll soothe the fowl with thoughts of other things--where's the concertina?"

"No, no, Fred, that'll be too much din!"

Monty made a grab for the instrument, but Fred raised it above his head and brought it down between his knees with chords that crashed like wedding bells. Then he changed to softer, languorous music, and when he had picked out an air to suit his mood, sat down and turned art loose to do her worst.

He has a good voice. If he would only not pull such faces, or make so sure that folk within a dozen blocks can hear him, he might pa.s.s for a professional.

"Music suggestive of moonlight!" he said, and began:

"The sentry palms stand motionless. Masts move against the sky.

With measured creak of curving spars dhows gently to the jeweled stars Rock out a lullaby.

"Silver and black sleeps Zanzibar. The moonlit ripples croon Soft songs of loves that perfect are, long tales of red-lipped spoils of war, And you--you smile, you moon!

For I think that beam on the placid sea That splashes, and spreads, and dips, and gleams, That dances and glides till it comes to me Out of infinite sky, is the path of dreams, And down that lane the memories run Of all that's wild beneath the sun!"

"You fellows like that one? Anybody coming? n.o.body for Will to fight yet? Too bad! Well--we'll try a-gain! There's no chorus. It's all poetic stuff, too gentle to be yowled by three such cannibals as you!

Listen!

"Old as the moonlit silences, to-night's loves are the same As when for ivory from far, and cloves and gems of Zanzibar King Solomon's men came.

"Sinful and still the same roofs lie that knew da Gama's heel, Those beams that light these sleepy waves looked on when men threw murdered slaves To make the sharks a meal.

And I think that beam on the silvered swell That spreads, and splashes, and gleams, and dips, That has shone on the cruel and brave as well, On the trail o' the slaves and the ivory ships, Is the lane down which the memories run Of all that's wild beneath the sun."

The concertina wailed into a sort of minor dirge and ceased. Fred fastened the catch, and put the instrument away.

"Why don't you applaud?" he asked.

"Oh, bravo, bravo!" said Will and I together.

Monty looked hard at both of us.

"Strange!" he remarked. "You're both distracted, and you've each got a slight cut over the jugular!"

"Been trying out razors," said Yerkes.

"Um-m-m!" remarked Monty. "Well--I'm glad it's no worse. How about bed, eh? Better lock your door--that lady up-stairs is what the Germans call gefaehrlich!* Goo'night!"

----------- * Gefaehrlich, dangerous.

CHAPTER THREE

THE NJO HAPA SONG