whenever she sees fit.  The king’s writ runs maybe for thirty miles north o’ this railway.  Once over that they can’t catch you.  But unless you’re a black man, or Pioneer Jane, the natives tip the gov’ment off an’ gov’ment rounds you up afore you get two-thirds the way.  They’ll take less than half a chance with her ladyship or I’m a Dutchman.  Why!  How would it look to have to bring her back between two native policemen?  She’ll not be allowed five miles outside Nairobi township!”

He up-ended his whisky again, consumed about a pint of it, and settled down to sleep.  We took him by the legs and arms and threw him on the upper berth to stew in the cabined heat under the roof.

“It’s good Monty’s not with us,” said Fred. He sat down and laughed at our surprise that he should state such heresy.  “Monty mustn’t break laws, but who cares if we do?”

“Laws?” said Will disgustedly.  “I don’t care who makes, or breaks the laws of this land!  Let’s beat it!  Let’s join Monty in London and make plans for some other trip.  Everybody’s after this ivory.  We haven’t a look-in.  Even if we knew where to look for it we’d be followed.  Let’s take the next train back from Nairobi, and the next boat for Europe!”

Fred rubbed his hands delightedly, and stroked his beard into the neat point it refuses to keep for long at a time in very hot weather.

“Let’s stay in Nairobi” he said, “at least until Courtney sends that boy he promised us.  We can put in the time asking questions, and then—­”

“What then?” grumbled Will.

“There may be truth in what Brown of Lumbwa says about a dead-line.”

“Dead-line?”

“Beyond which the king’s writ doesn’t run.”

“Betcherlife there’s truth in it!” Brown mumbled from the upper berth.

Will exploded silently, going through the motions of reeling off all the bad language he knew—­not an insignificant performance.

“He’s really asleep now,” I said, standing on the lower berth and lifting the man’s eyelid to make sure.

“Who cares?” said Will.  “He’s heard.  We’ve given the game away.  The woman heard Courtney shout about how to reach Mount Elgon.  So did this sharp.  Now he hears Fred talk about dead-lines and the king’s writ and breaking laws!  The game’s up!  Me for the down-train and a steamer!”

We smoked in silence, rendered more depressing by the deepening gloom outside.  With the evening it grew no cooler.  What little wind there was followed the train, so that we traveled in stagnation.  Utter darkness brought no respite, but the fascination of flitting shadows and the ever-new mystery of African night.  The train drew up at last in a station in the shadow of great overleaning mountains, and the heat shut down on us like hairy coverings.  We seemed to breathe through thicknesses of cloth, and the very trees that cast black shadow on the platform ends were stifling for lack of air.