“Well, it is plain, deep water,” said Nilssen, “and I guess you sabbey how to keep in the middle as well as I do.  Come along, Kettle.”

The pair of them went below to the baking cabin and dined off a savory orange-colored stew, and washed it down with fiery red wine, and dodged the swarming, crawling cockroaches.  The noise of angry negro voices came to them between whiles through the hot air, like the distant chatter of apes.

The Dane was obviously ill at ease and frightened; the Englishman, though feeling a contempt for his companion, was very much on the alert himself, and prepared for emergencies.  There was that mysterious something in the atmosphere which would have bidden the dullest of mortals prepare for danger.

Up they came on deck again, and on to the bridge.  Rabeira himself was there in charge, dark, smiling, affable as ever.

Nilssen looked sharply down at the main deck below.  “Hullo,” said he, “those two niggers gone already?  You haven’t shifted them down below, I suppose?”

The Portuguese Captain shrugged his shoulders.  “No,” he said, “it was bad sickness, an’ dey died an’ gone over the side.  I lose by their passage.  I lose also the two fire-bar which I give for funeral palaver.  Ver’ disappointing.”

“Sudden kind of sickness,” said Nilssen.

“Dis sickness is.  It make a man lib for die in one minute, clock time.  But it don’ matter to you pilot, does it?  You lib for below—­off duty—­dis las’ half hour.  You see nothing, you sabby nothing.  I don’-want no trouble at Boma with doctor palaver.  I make it all right for you after.  Sabby?”

“Oh, I tumble to what you’re driving at, but I was just thinking out how it works.  However, you’re captain of this ship, and if you choose not to log down a couple of deaths, I suppose it’s your palaver.  Anyway, I don’t want to cause no ill-will, and if you think it’s worth a dash, I don’t see why I shouldn’t earn it.  It’s little enough we pick up else in this service, and I’ve got a wife at home in Liverpool who has to be thought about.”

Kettle drew a deep breath.  “It seems to me,” he said, looking very hard at the Portuguese, “that those men died a bit too sudden.  Are you sure they were pukka dead when you put them over the side?”

“Oh, yes,” said Rabeira smilingly, “an’ dey made no objection.  It was best dey should go over quick.  Bodies do not keep in this heat.  An’ pilot, I do you square-a, same as with Nilssen.  You shall have your dash when doctor-palaver set.”

“No,” said Kettle, “you may keep it in your own trousers, Captain.  Money that you’ve fingered, is a bit too dirty for me to touch.”

“All right,” said Rabeira with a genial shrug, “so much cheaper for me.  But do not talk on the beach, dere’s good boy, or you make trouble-palaver for me.”

“I’ll shut my head if you stop at this,” said Kettle, “but if you murder any more of those poor devils, I’ll see you sent to join them, if there’s enough law in this State to rig a gallows.”