“No need to smuggle it out,” said Fred.  “The British government will give us ten per cent., or so I understand, of the value of all of it we find in British East.”

Georges Coutlass threw back his head and roared with laughter, slapped his thighs, held his sides—­then coughed for two or three minutes, and spat blood.

“You are the lord, all right!” he gasped as soon as he could get breath.  “No need to smuggle it!  Ha-ha!  May I be damned!  Ten per cent. they’ll give us!  Ha-ha!  Generous!  By whip and wheel! they’re lucky if we give them five per cent.!  I’d like to see any government take away from Georges Coutlass ninety per cent. of anything without a fight!  No, gentlemen!  No, my Lord!  The Belgian Congo government is corrupt.  Let us spend twenty-five per cent.—­even thirty-forty-fifty per cent. of the value of it to bribe the Congo officials.  Hand over ninety per cent. to the Germans or the British without a fight?—­Never!  Never while my name is Georges Coutlass!  I have fought too often!  I have been robbed by governments too often!  This last time I will put it over all the governments, and be rich at last, and go home to Greece to live like a gentleman!  Believe me!”

He patted himself on the breast, and if flashing eye and frothing lip went for anything, then all the governments were as good as defeated already.

“You are the lord, are you not?” he demanded, looking straight at Fred.

“My name is Oakes,” Fred answered.

“Oh, then you?  I beg pardon!” He looked at me with surprise that he made no attempt to conceal.  Fred could pass for a king with that pointed beard of his (provided he were behaving himself seemly at the time) but for all my staid demeanor I have never been mistaken for any kind of personage.  I disillusioned Coutlass promptly.

“Then you are neither of you lords?”

“Pish!  We’re obviously ladies!” answered Fred.

“Then you have fooled me?” The Greek rose to his feet.  “You have deceived me?  You have accepted my hospitality and confidence under false pretense?”

I think there would have been a fight, for Fred was never the man to accept brow-beating from chance-met strangers, and the Greek’s fiery eye was rolling in fine frenzy; but just at that moment Yerkes strolled in, cheerful and brisk.

“Hullo, fellers!  This is some thirsty burg.  Do they sell soft drinks in this joint?” he inquired.

“By Brooklyn Bridge!” exclaimed Coutlass.  “An American!  I, too, am an American!  Fellow-citizen, these men have treated me badly!  They have tricked me!”

“You must be dead easy!” said Yerkes genially.  “If those two wanted to live at the con game, they’d have to practise on the junior kindergarten grades.  They’re the mildest men I know.  I let that one with the beard hold my shirt and pants when I go swimming!  Tricked you, have they?  Say—­have you got any money left?”