He began to pace up and down again furiously, shaking both fists at the unresponsive stars.

“She will do Rebecca an injury!  She will give that girl to de Sousa or to that old Kamarajes!  We shall never catch them!  Gassharamminy!  Oh, Absalom!  You should have fired when I told you!  That she-dog has a trick of some kind up her sleeve yet!  How shall we catch her?  Why do we wait?  Give me that rifle!  I will take a canoe and go after them alone!  You do not know what Greek spirit is!  I am American sometimes—­English when it suits me—­always Greek when I am wronged!”

“You certainly have been put upon” Fred answered.  “Tell us how your Greek spirit justified deserting us.”

“Why not?” snarled Coutlass.  “Do you love me?  What would you do to me if you could get me to British East in your power?  You would hand me over as a cattle thief!”

“You bet I will!” admitted Brown of Lumbwa.  “You dog, you’ve ruined me!”

“What did I tell you?” demanded Coutlass.  “Why, then, should I not look out for myself?”

“I think we’d better leave you on this island,” Fred told him quietly.  “We can’t trust you out of sight.  The only way to prevent you from stealing this rifle and murdering us all would be to lie awake in turns.”

“Bah!” grinned the Greek, striding back toward the fire.  “How many cartridges have you left?  Five, eh?  After I had murdered all of you, how many would remain?”

“You’ll have to think of a better argument than that,” smiled Fred, and for the first time I suspected he was speaking in deadly earnest.  Coutlass suspected it, too, and grew still.  The sweat burst out on his face, and his eyes bulged from their sockets.

“You will leave me here?” he stammered.

Fred nodded, smiling up at him.

“You see, you’re such on all-in scoundrel!” Brown assured him.

“You!  You poor drunkard!” Coutlass turned his back on Brown, and faced Fred squarely.  “You are a man, Mr. Oakes!  I can speak to you as to my brother.”

Fred smiled blandly.

“I will speak to you God’s truth!”

Fred grinned.

“I will tell you where the ivory is!”

Fred threw his head back and laughed outright.

“I speak to you on my honor!  That mother of misery, Lady Saffren Waldon, stole a map from Shillingschen.  Before I would agree to set the town on fire I made her give me that for a hostage, lest she should prove treacherous and leave me behind after all!  I have it now!  It is marked with a circle to show where Schillingschen believes the stuff must be, because he has searched everywhere else!”

“If that map is worth anything,” Fred countered, “how did Lady Saffren Waldon care to leave you behind with it?”

“The harridan forgot it!” answered Coutlass.  “She was so delighted to get vengeance on Rebecca by taking her away from me that she did not care for anything else!  She hates you!  She hates me!  She hates Rebecca!  Those who hate—­as I can hate!—­would rather have revenge than all the riches of Africa!  Do you think I would hesitate between money and revenge on her?”