“That is the Crocodile,” I remarked slowly, causing Sammy to translate, and as I spoke, produced from my inner pocket a Union Jack which I had placed there after I heard that the ship was sighted.  “Stephen,” I went on as I shook it out, “if you have got your wind, would you mind climbing up that palm tree again and signalling with this to the Crocodile out at sea?”

“By George! that’s a good idea,” said Stephen, whose jovial face, although swollen, was now again wreathed in smiles.  “Hans, bring me a long stick and a bit of string.”

But Hassan did not think it at all a good idea.

“English lord,” he gasped, “you shall have the bearers.  I will go to fetch them.”

“No, you won’t,” I said, “you will stop here as a hostage.  Send that man.”

Hassan uttered some rapid orders and the messenger sped away, this time towards the stockaded village on the right.

As he went another messenger arrived, who also stared amazedly at the condition of his chief.

“Bey—­if you are the Bey,” he said, in a doubtful voice, for by now the amiable face of Hassan had begun to swell and colour, “with the telescope we have seen that the English man-of-war has sent a boat and boarded the Maria.”

“God is great!” muttered the discomfited Hassan, “and Delgado, who is a thief and a traitor from his mother’s breast, will tell the truth.  The English sons of Satan will land here.  All is finished; nothing is left but flight.  Bid the people fly into the bush and take the slaves —­I mean their servants.  I will join them.”

“No, you won’t,” I interrupted, through Sammy; “at any rate, not at present.  You will come with us.”

The miserable Hassan reflected, then he asked: 

“Lord Quatermain” (I remember the title, because it is the nearest I ever got, or am likely to get, to the peerage), “if I furnish you with the twenty bearers and accompany you for some days on your journey inland, will you promise not to signal to your countrymen on the ship and bring them ashore?”

“What do you think?” I asked of Stephen.

“Oh!” he answered, “I think I’d agree.  This scoundrel has had a pretty good dusting, and if once the Crocodile people land, there’ll be an end of our expedition.  As sure as eggs are eggs they will carry us off to Zanzibar or somewhere to give evidence before a slave court.  Also nothing will be gained, for by the time the sailors get here, all these rascals will have bolted, except our friend, Hassan.  You see it isn’t as though we were sure he would be hung.  He’d probably escape after all.  International law, subject of a foreign Power, no direct proof—­that kind of thing, you know.”

“Give me a minute or two,” I said, and began to reflect very deeply.