She glanced at the Arab, an able-looking man, with nose and eyes expressive of keen thought, and the groomed gray beard that makes an Arab always dignified.

“Some other time,” said Will.  “I’ve an engagement!” And he turned to go again.

“No—­now!” she said.  “It’s no use—­you can’t get out!  You may as well be sensible and listen!”

We glanced at each other and both remembered Monty’s warning.  Will laughed.

“Take seats,” she said, with a very regal gesture.  She was not carelessly dressed, as she had been earlier in the day.  From hair to silken hose and white kid shoes she was immaculate, and she wore rouge and powder now.  In that yellow lamplight (carefully placed, no doubt) she was certainly good-looking.  In fact, she was good-looking at any time, and only no longer able to face daylight with the tale of youth.  Her eyes were weapons, nothing less.  We remained standing.

“This gentleman will speak to you,” she said, motioning to the Arab to commence, and he bowed—­from the shoulders upward.

“I am from His Highness the Sultan of Zanzibar” he announced, a little pompously.  “A minister from His Highness.” (In announcing their own importance Arabs very seldom err in the direction of under-estimate.) “I speak about the ivory, which I am informed you propose to set out on a journey to discover.”

“Where did you get your information?” Yerkes countered.

“Don’t be absurd!” ordered Lady Safrren Waldon.  “I gave it to him!  Where else need he go to get it?”

“Where did you get it, then?” he retorted.

“Never mind!  Listen to what Hamed Ibrahim has to say!”

The Arab bowed his bead slightly a second time.

“The ivory you seek,” he said, “is said to be Tippoo Tib’s own, and he will not tell the hiding-places.  It does not belong to him.  Such little part of it as ever was his was long ago swallowed by the interest on claims against him.  The whole is now in truth the property of His Highness the Sultan of Zanzibar, and whoever discovers it shall receive reward from the owner.  His Highness is willing, through me his minister, to make treaty in advance in writing with suitable parties intending to make search.”

“You mean the Sultan wants to hire me to hunt for ivory for him?” Will asked, and the Arab made a gesture of impatience.  At that Lady Saffren Waldon cut in, very vinegary once more.

“You two men are prisoners!  Show much more sense!  Come to terms or take the consequences!  Listen!  Tippoo Tib buried the ivory.  The Sultan of Zanzibar claims it.  The German government, for reasons of its own, backs the Sultan’s claim; ivory found in German East Africa will be handed over to him in support of his claim to all the rest of it.  If you—­Lord Montdidier and the rest of you—­care to sign an agreement with the Sultan of Zanzibar you can have facilities.  You shall be supplied with guides who can lead you to the right place to start your search from—­”