“She’s more likely to make trouble for you than a burning house!” put in Will Yerkes.  “If my partner hadn’t paid you that check I’d be all for having this business out!  I’m going to let them know in the States what sort of welcome people receive at this port!”

“You came of your own accord.  You weren’t invited,” the collector answered.

“That’s a straight-out lie!” snapped Will.  “You know it’s a lie!  Why, there isn’t a newspaper in South Africa that hasn’t been carrying ads of this country for months past.  Even papers I’ve had sent me from the States have carried press-agent dope about it.  Why, you’ve been yelling for settlers like a kid squalling for milk—­and you say we’re not invited now we’ve come here!  I’m going to write and tell the U. S. papers what that dope is worth!”

“Ivory hunters are not settlers,” the collector interjected.

“Who said we’re ivory hunters?” Will was in a fine rage, and Fred and I leaned back to enjoy the official’s discomfort.  “Besides, your ads bragged about the big game as one of the chief attractions!  All the information you can possibly have against us must have come from a female crook in the pay of the German government!  You’re not behaving the way gentlemen do where I was raised!”

“There is no intention to offend,” said the collector.

“Intention is good!” said Will, laughing in spite of himself.  “There’s another thing I want to know.  What about ammunition?  We’re to have our guns.  They’re useless without cartridges.  What about it?”

“The guns shall be sent to your hotel tonight.  The provisional sporting licenses—­if you want them—­will be ready tomorrow morning—­seven hundred and fifty rupees apiece—­I’ll charge them against your deposit.  If the licenses should be confirmed after inquiry, I will send you permits through the post for fifty rounds of ammunition each.”

Will snorted.  Fred Oakes yelled with laughter, and I gaped with indignation.

“I’m going into this to the hilt!” spluttered Fred.  “I wouldn’t have missed it for a fortune!  We three are going to constitute ourselves a committee of inspection.  We’re going to wander the country over and report home to the newspapers—­South African—­British—­U.  S. A.—­and any other part of the world that’s interested!  We won’t worry about ammunition.  Send us permits for whatever quantity seems to you proper, and we’ll note it all down in our diaries!”

We all stood up, the collector obviously uncomfortable and we, if not at ease, at least happier than we had been.

Fred nodded to the collector genially, and we all walked out.

Mombasa is a fairly large island, but the built-over part of it is small, so it was not surprising that we should emerge from the office face to face with Lady Saffren Waldon.  She was the one surprised, not we.  She probably thought she had spiked our guns in that part of the world forever, and the sight of us coming laughing from the very office where we should have been made glum must have been disconcerting.