“Mais, monsieur, je vous assure—­” began Rodier again, when he thought he saw a chance; but the explorer shouted “Retirez-vous!  J’insiste que vous vous en lliez, tout de suite, tout de suite!” And then he began over again, abuse, recrimination, expostulation, entreaty, pouring in full tide from his trembling lips.  More than once Rodier tried to stem the flood, but finding that it only ran the faster, he resigned himself to listen in silence, and stood looking mournfully at his ireful fellow-countryman until he at length was forced to stop from sheer lack of breath.

“Mais, monsieur,” Rodier’s voice was very conciliatory—­“I assure you that our visit is purely accidental.  My friend and myself desire only too much to quit the scene.  But you perceive, monsieur, that our aeroplane—­”

“Ah, bah! aeroplane!  What have I to do with aeroplanes?  You interrupt my work, I say:  the aeroplane is a thing of the present; I have to do only with the past; there were no aeroplanes in Babylonia.  Once more I demand that you withdraw, you and your aeroplane, and leave me to pursue my work in tranquillity.”

“Mais, monsieur, il s’agit precisement de ca!  Withdraw:  yes, certainly, at the quickest possible:  but how?  You perceive that our aeroplane is so placed that one cannot extricate it without assistance.  If monsieur will be so good as to lend us his distinguished help, so that we may remove it from this hole—­”

“Hole!  Mille diables!  It is a trench; a trench excavated with many pains in this tell.  As for assistance, I give you none, none absolutely.  You brought your aeroplane here without assistance:  then remove it equally without assistance; immediately:  already you waste too much time.”

“Mais, monsieur, our mission is of life or death.”

“N’importe, n’importe.  I tell you I am quite unmoved.  No interest is superior to that of science—­the science of archaeology.  I tell you I have just made a discovery of the highest importance.  I have but a short time left; you, you and your ridiculous machine, have scared away my imbeciles of workmen; they will not return until you have gone away; the leg of my derrick is smashed; I demand, I beseech, I implore—­”

“Pardon, monsieur,” said Smith, coming forward, and courteously saluting the stout, spectacled little Frenchman, whom he could just see in the growing darkness.  “We regret extremely having put you to this trouble and inconvenience, and I assure you that but for the storm we should never have dreamed of entering here, and interrupting the great work on which you are engaged.”

Smith’s quiet voice and slow, measured utterance made an instant impression.  A man can hardly rave against a person who remains calm.  Moreover, the Frenchman was mollified by the speaker’s evident appreciation of the value of his work.

“Eh bien, monsieur?” he said courteously.

“I am a seaman, monsieur,” proceeded Smith; “my friend here is an engineer, and between us I have no doubt that we can repair the leg of your derrick and assist you to place the masonry where you will.  All that I would ask is that you in return will help us to remove our aeroplane from your trench into the open plain.”