“Well, I don’t know. He is guilty, isn’t he? You said you would like to see him in the prisoner’s dock. You would probably convict him of killing as well as slavery. You would torture him with prison, and then hang him in the end. Ismail would probably get into a rage--pretended, of course--and send an army against him. Kingsley would make a fight for it, and lose his head--all in the interest of a sudden sense of duty on the part of the Khedive. All Europe would applaud--all save England, and what could she do? Can she defend slavery? There’ll be no kid-gloved justice meted out to Kingsley by the Khedive, if he starts a campaign against him. He will have to take it on the devil’s pitchfork. You must be logical, you know. “You can’t have it both ways. If he is to be punished, it must be after the custom of the place. This isn’t England.” She shuddered slightly, and Dicky went on: “Then, when his head’s off, and his desert-city and his mines are no more, and his slaves change masters, comes a nice question. Who gets his money? Not that there’s any doubt about who’ll get it, but, from your standpoint, who should get it?” She shook her head in something like embarrassment. “Money got by slavery--yes, who should get it?” interposed Kingsley carefully, for her eyes had turned to him for help. “Would you favour his heirs getting it? Should it go to the State? Should it go to the slaves? Should it go to a fund for agitation against slavery?... You, for instance, could make use of a fortune like his in a cause like that, could you not?” he asked with what seemed boyish simplicity. The question startled her. “I--I don’t know.... But certainly not,” she hastened to add; “I couldn’t touch the money. It is absurd--impossible.” “I can’t see that,” steadily persisted Kingsley. “This money was made out of the work of slaves. Certainly they were paid--they were, weren’t they?” he asked with mock ignorance, turning to Dicky, who nodded assent. “They were paid wages by Kingsley--in kind, I suppose, but that’s all that’s needed in a country like the Soudan. But still they had to work, and their lives and bodies were Kingsley’s for the time being, and the fortune wouldn’t have been made without them; therefore, according to the most finely advanced theories of labour and ownership, the fortune is theirs as much as Kingsley’s. But, in the nature of things, they couldn’t have the fortune. What would they do with it? Wandering tribes don’t need money. Barter and exchange of things in kind is the one form of finance in the Soudan. Besides, they’d cut each other’s throats the very first day they got the fortune, and it would strew the desert sands. It’s all illogical and impossible--” “Yes, yes, I quite see that,” she interposed.