“Thought you wanted Lord Montdidier to say in London that you know where it all is,” Will objected.

She colored slightly, and glared.

“Perhaps I am one of the guides,” she said darkly.  “I know more than I need tell for the sake of this argument!  The point is, you can have facilities if you sign an agreement with the Sultan.  Otherwise, you will be dogged wherever you go!  Whatever you should find would be claimed!  Every difficulty will be made for you—­every treachery conceivable practised on you.  Lord Montdidier can get influential backing, but not influence among the natives!  He can not get good men and true information by pulling wires in London.  The British government once offered ten per cent. of the value of the ivory found.  The Sultan of Zanzibar offers twenty per cent.—­”

“Twenty-five per cent.,” corrected Hamed Ibrahim.

“Yes, but I should want five per cent. for my commission!”

“This sounds like a different yarn to the one you told on the stairs this afternoon,” said Will.  “See Monty and tell it to him.”

“It is for you to tell Lord Montdidier.  He runs away from me!”

“I refuse to tell him a word!” said Will, with a laugh like that of a boy about to plunge into a swimming pool—­sort of “Here goes!”

“You are extremely ill advised!”

“Do your worst!  Monty’ll be hunting for us two in about a minute.  We’re prisoners, are we?  Suit yourself!”

“You are prisoners while I choose!  You could be killed in this room, removed in sacks, thrown to the sharks in the roadstead, and nobody the wiser!  But I have no intention of killing you.  As it happens, that would not suit my purpose!”

We both glanced behind us involuntarily.  It may be that we both heard a footstep, but it is always difficult to say certainly after the event.  At any rate, while in the act of turning our heads, two of the three Arabs, who had previously left the room, threw nooses over them and bound our arms to our sides with the jiffy-swiftness only sailors know.  The third man put the finishing touches, and presently adjusted gags with a neatness and solicitude worthy of the Inquisition.

“Throw them!” she ordered, and in a second our heels were struck from under us and I was half stunned by the impact of my head against the solid floor (for all the floors of that great place were built to resist eternity).

“Now!” she said.  “Show them knives!”

We were shown forthwith the ugliest, most suggestive weapons I have ever seen—­long sliver-thin blades sharper than razors.  The Arabs knelt on our chests (their knees were harder and more merciless than wooden clubs) and laid the blades, edge-upward, on the skin of our throats.

“Let them feel!” she ordered.

I felt a sharp cut, and the warm blood trickled down over my jugular to the floor.  I knew it was only a skin-cut, but did not pretend to myself I was enjoying the ordeal.