“That’s what he kept advising us,” said Will.  “But why should he give away his information free?  And if it’s good, where did he get it?”

“Courtney’s no dog in the manger,” Monty answered.  “He told me of this man Schillingschen.  Said he had sent in a report about him to the Home Government, but couldn’t for the life of him get documentary evidence with which to back up his charges.”

Will whistled, and drew out the diary he had rescued from the tin box.  Fred nodded.  Will threw it to Monty, who caught it.

“He told me this Schillingschen had searched the whole country over for the stuff—­had it straight from Schillingschen’s boys—­I dare say you know how Courtney can make a native tell him all he knows.  Schillingschen, he said, had eliminated pretty nearly all the likely places until Mount Elgon was about all there is left.  Courtney said, too, that there were always so many thousands of elephants near Elgon that Tippoo Tib probably gathered a harvest there.  We discussed probabilities, and agreed it wasn’t likely he would carry the stuff far in order to hide it.  It seemed likely to both of us, too, that if the quantity the old man hid was anything like what rumor says, then there were probably half a dozen hiding-places, not one.  Most of the stuff may be in the Congo Free State, and we’ll do well to leave that to Leopold of Belgium and his pet concessionaires.  Some of it may be near here.  I stayed in the lazaretto an extra day with Courtney, talking it over.  One other thing he remembered to tell me was that Schillingschen had hunted high and low for Tippoo Tib’s old servants, and had finally managed to have the relatives of that man Hassan—­I remember, Fred, you called him Johnson in Zanzibar—­thrown in jail in German East for some alleged offense or other.”

Monty stopped to scrape out a faithful pipe, fill it, press down tobacco with a practised thumb, and reach toward the campfire for a burning brand.  Then he smoked for two minutes reflectively.

“I offered Courtney a share should we find the stuff.  Knew you fellows would agree.”  Pause.  “Courtney wouldn’t hear of it.”  Pause.  “Said good-by to him, and took a coastwise trading steamer back to Mombasa.  Delightful trip—­put in everywhere—­saw everything.  Saw a lot of the Galla—­fine tribe, the Galla.”

“Suppose you cut the travelogue stuff until later on!” suggested Will.

“Landed at Mombasa, and learned the first day that you fellows had managed to make more enemies than friends.  Put in a number of days on heavy social labor—­lingered at the club—­drank too much of their infernal gin-and-black-pepper appetizer—­but made you fellows right, I think.”

“We’re not interested in the slumming.  Go on and tell us what you did!” urged Fred.