“It’s a beastly shame,” said Venning, for about the fourth time, as he stared out at the black faces reflected in the blazing log-fires.

“What is a shame?” asked Compton, who was inspecting the partition before seeking his hammock.

“You know well enough.  Not a soul stands by the chief; even his jackal bolted as soon as he jumped ashore.”

“Because Muata ordered him.  He is probably watching from the dark.”

“All the worse for us, then.  I never thought Mr. Hume would have knuckled down so easily.  Hark at him shouting over the game.”

“What is the game, do you think?”

“Cards,” snorted Venning, in disgust.

“So!  Queer sort of partition this;” and Compton moved the mat aside.  “No need for doors, you see.  Hulloa!  Who are you?”

“Me Zanzibar boy, master,” exclaimed a soft, oily voice.

“Then clear out.”

“Me put here watch my master—­see black fellows no steal.”

“Oh, I see.  Chuck a cake of tobacco, Venning.  Here!  You like that?”

“Ver good,” said the boy, reaching out a yellow hand for the tobacco.

Venning crossed over and peered into the other room.  “You boy,” he said, “tell me, what will they do to Muata?”

The Zanzibari chuckled.  “You want know, eh?”

“We don’t care.  One black fellow does not matter,” said Compton, coolly.

“You brute!” muttered Venning, but stopped as Compton’s hand gripped him.

The Zanzibari chuckled again.  “What you give, eh, if cut loose that Muata?”

“What do you say?”

“You pay me?  Good.  In night Muata is loose.  He run up river.  Bymby master go along in little boat, pick Muata up, eh?  What you pay?” and the boy chuckled softly.

“Suppose I tell your white master, you rascal?”

“Wow!  You tell, they kill poor Zanzibar boy.”

“Then clear out,” said Compton, launching a kick; “and if I see any more of you I will tell.”

The boy turned sulky.  “Me guard—­me stay.”

“You go,” said Compton, “or I will call your masters, and let them deal with you.”

Growling under his breath, the self-styled “guard” slunk soft-footed out of the room.  Compton struck a match and looked around the apartment, then turned to Venning with a grin.

“That is the game,” he whispered.

“I think I understand,” Venning replied softly.  “That fellow was testing you?”

Compton nodded.

“And you think Mr. Hume has not forgotten Muata?”

“I am sure he has not.”

They crept into their hammocks, but not to sleep, and they were wide awake when Mr. Hume entered noisily some two hours later.

“To-morrow night,” he shouted boisterously.

“With pleasure, and the night after, for good visitors are rare,” called the Belgian.

“And good hosts also.  Touching those two men you promised as the crew for my boat?”