“Well,” said Kettle, “have they made you a colonel yet, or are they only going to give you the Congo medal?”

“You sacred pig,” said Balliot, “you talked to M. le Commandant here of rebels.  What are you but a rebel?  I have told him all, and he has sent me to arrest you.”

“Good old Waterloo,” said Kettle cheerfully.  “I bet you lied, and because you are both Belgians, I suppose he believed you.”

The fat man gritted his teeth.  “You talked of having a short way with rebels yourself.  You will find that we have a short way here, too.  You are under arrest.”

“So you’ve said.”

Balliot said a couple of words in the native to one of his followers, and the man produced a pair of rusty handcuffs and held them out alluringly.

Kettle’s pale cheeks flushed darkly.  “No,” he said, “by James!  No, that’s not the way for a thing like you to set about it.”  He jumped to his feet, and thrust his savage little face close to the black soldier’s eyes.  “Give me dem handcuffs.”  The man surrendered them limply, and Kettle flung them overboard.  Balliot was trying to get a revolver from the leather holster at his waist, but Kettle, who had his weapon in a hip pocket, was ready first, and covered him.

“Throw up your hands!”

Commandant Balliot did so.  He knew enough about Captain Kettle to understand that he meant business.

“Tell your soldiers to drop their guns, or I’ll spread their brains on the deck.”

Balliot obeyed that order also.

“Now, Doc,” said Kettle in a different tone, “pack your traps and go ashore.”

“What for?” asked Clay.

“Because I’m going to take this steamer for a cruise up river.  I don’t mind getting the sack; I’d reckoned on that.  But, by James!  I’m not going to be arrested by these Belgian brutes, and that’s final.”

“Well, I suppose they would string you up, or shoot you, to soothe their precious dignity, from what His Whiskers here says.”

“They’re not going to get the chance,” snapped Kettle.  “Handcuffs, by James!  Here, clear out, Doc, and let me get the ship under way.”

“No,” said Clay.  “I fancy I’ve had about enough of the Congo Free State service, too.  I’ll come, too.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Dr. Clay gave a whimsical laugh.  “Have I ever been anything else all my life?”—­He went across and took the revolver out of Balliot’s holster—­there, I’ve burnt my boats.  I’ve disarmed His Whiskers here, and defied authority, and that gives them a casus belli against me.  You’ll have to take me along now out of sheer pity.”

“Very well,” said Kettle; “help me to shove the three of them into one of the empty rooms below, and then mount guard on them to see they don’t make a row.  We mustn’t have them giving the alarm of this new game till we’ve got a start on us.  You’re a good soul, Doc.  I’ll never forget this of you.”