“Oh, have a drink!” laughed the Greek.  “Have one on me!  It’s good to hear you talk!”

“What have my friends done to you?” asked Yerkes.

“I was looking for a lord.  They pretended to be lords.”

“What?  Both of ’em?”

“No, it is one lord I am looking for.”

“One lord, one faith, one baptism!” said Yerkes profanely.  “And you found two?  What’s your worry?  I’ll pretend to be a third if that’ll help you any!”

“Gentlemen,” said the Greek, rising to his full height and letting his rage begin to gather again, “you play with me.  That is not well!  You waste my time.  That is not wise!  I come in all innocence, looking for a certain lord—­a real genuine lord—­the Earl of Montdidier and Kirscrubbrightshaw—­my God, what a name!”

“I’m Mundidier,” said a level voice, and the Greek faced about like a man attacked.  Monty had entered the barroom and stood listening with calm amusement, that for some strange reason exasperated the Greek less than our attitude had done, at least for the moment.  When the first flush of surprise had died he grinned and grew gallant.

“My own name is Georges Coutlass, my Lord!” He made a sweeping bow, almost touching the floor with the brim of his cowboy hat, and then crossing his breast with it.

“What can I do for you?” asked Monty.

“Listen to me!”

“Very well.  I can spare fifteen minutes.”

We all took seats together in a far corner of the dingy room, where the Syrian barkeeper could not overhear us.

“My Lord, I am an Englishman!” Coutlass began.  “I am a God-fearing, law-abiding gentleman!  I know where to look for the ivory that the Arab villain Tippoo Tib has buried!  I know how to smuggle it out of Africa without paying a penny of duty—­”

“Did you say law-abiding?” Monty asked.

“Surely!  Always!  I never break the law!  As for instance—­in Greece, where I had the honor to be born, the law says no man shall carry a knife or wear one in his belt.  So, since I was a little boy I carry none!  I have none in my hand—­none at my belt.  I keep it here!”

He stooped, raised his right trousers leg, and drew from his Wellington boot a two-edged, pointed thing almost long enough to merit the name of rapier.  He tossed it in the air, let it spin six or seven times end over end, caught it deftly by the point, and returned it to its hiding-place.

“I am a law-abiding man,” he said, “but where the law leaves off, I know where to begin!  I am no fool!”

Monty made up his mind there and then that this man’s game would not be worth the candle.

“No, Mr. Coutlass, I can’t oblige you,” he said.

The Greek half-arose and then sat down again.

“You can not find it without my assistance!” he said, wrinkling his face for emphasis.

“I’m not looking for assistance,” said Monty.