“Gassharamminy!” he thundered, and his stomach stuck out over the table it was so full of various drinks.  “Why should we not take?  Who isn’t thirsty in this hell of a place?  Who leaves good drink deserves to lose it!”

“What shall I do?” wailed the Goanese manager.

“Take the orders for drinks again,” said the railway man, glancing up from his figures.  “Bring the account to me.”

The waiters ran to fill orders, and a babel of abuse at the second table was hurled at Coutlass and his friends; but they lid not leave the table because there was another course to come, and, as the manager had said, they were greedy.  Then in came the guard, his face a blood-and-smudgy picture of discontent.

“Say!” he yelled.  “Ain’t I goin’ to get those two first-classes on trays?” He came and stood by us.  “Did you ever ’ear the likes of it?  They swear neither of ’em was out of the compartment.  They call me a liar for askin’ for my key back!  They swear I never gave it to ’em, ‘an they never asked for it, an’ their door was never locked, nor nothin’!”

He passed on to the railway man.

“I’ll have to borry your key, sir.  Mine’s lost.  Can’t open doors until I get one from somewhere.”

The railway man passed him his key with a bored expression and no remark.

“Don’t forget that I want you presently,” be ordered.  “Be quick and get your own dinner.”

“I’m in love with this ivory hunt!” Fred whispered to us across the table.  “If she’s sure our pockets are worth going through, I’m sure there’s something to look for!”

“Are you sure the maid went through our things?” asked Will.

“Quite.  I left my shooting jacket hanging on a hook.  Everything was emptied out of the pockets on to the berth.”

“I think I’ll make you a confession presently,” said I, with a look at Will that just then he did not understand.

“Never confess before dessert and coffee!” advised Fred.  “It spoils the appetite.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SLAVE GANGS

Our fathers praised the old accustomed things,
        The privilege of chiefs, the village wall
Within whose circling dark Monumme* sings
        O’ nights of belly-full and ease and all
They taught us we should prize and praise
        (Only of dearth and pestilence should be our fears;)
And now behind us are the green, regretted days. 
        The water in the desert is our tears. 
                Then ye, who at the waters drink
                Of Freedom, oh with Pity think
                On us, who face the desert brink
                Your fathers entered willingly.