“How?  I know the names of the men who are preaching Germany’s sermons all through British East!  I know all Schillingschen’s secrets!  Why should I not?  I have suffered enough!  He is a drunken brute nearly always after the sun goes down, and his caresses are disgusting; I have endured them until I know all he knows!  Now he realizes that I know his secrets and have none of my own to tell, so he hopes to send me to my doom at the hands of the government I have betrayed too many times!  What is the use of my pretending to be better than I am?  I am a spy—­a traitress—­a divorced woman with worse than no reputation!  I am not a person likely to be shown much mercy!  I never would have recanted unless the end of my rope had come!  Now I know I must buy my pardon—­I must earn it—­I must pay for it with solid value!  Luckily I can do that!  I do not ask you men for mercy.  I know what is in store for you if you do not escape!  I offer to help you to escape, in exchange for helping me!”

“Better be more precise!” suggested Fred.  “Exactly what is in store for us?”

She pointed her finger at me.  “You went out of bounds to-day with Schillingschen!  Well and good; he was with you.  But you, and you—­” She pointed at Fred and Will. “—­went without permission.  Why do you suppose they over-looked such a splendid chance of jailing you legally?  Schillingschen came up to the commandant’s house in a towering passion, demanding the immediate arrest and close confinement of all three of you.  He was only persuaded to wait a few days longer because a runner has come in with word that the bodies of several Masai whom you shot on this side of the German border have been found!  The bones—­the bullets found among the bones—­and cartridge cases that will fit your rifles are being brought to Muanza!  After that—­the deluge, my friends!  That is why Professor Schillingschen gets drunk and sings himself to sleep in spite of your being still at liberty!  Either escape before that evidence reaches Muanza, or make up your minds for the worst!  It is growing late—­answer me—­do you agree?”

Fred glanced once at each of us.  We both nodded.

“We agree with reservations,” he said.

“What are they?  Man—­don’t be a fool!  Don’t fritter the lives of all of us away!”

“They’re simple.  We’ve a friend in the jail here.  His name’s Brown.”

“That drunkard?  Leave him!  He’s worthless!”

“We’ve a servant on the chain-gang.  His name is Kazimoto.”

“A nigger?  You’d risk another day in this place for a nigger?  How absurd!  They’re never grateful.  They don’t see things from the white man’s standpoint.  They don’t expect ideal treatment.  Leave him his wages and tell him to follow when they let him off the chain!”

“And we have a string of porters,” Fred continued.  “We will not leave Muanza without the porters, our man Kazimoto, and Mr. Brown of Lumbwa!”