Moussa Isa knew the pattern of it well by the close of day. The Leading Gentleman took that evening to sharpening the already sharp blade of the knife. As he sharpened it on his sandal and the side of the boat, and tried its edge on his thumb, he regarded the thin body of Moussa Isa very critically. His look blended contempt, anticipation, and anxiety. He broke a long brooding silence with the remark:-- "The little dog will be thinner still, to-morrow "--a remark which evoked from the fair youth the reply: "And so will you". Perhaps truth covered and excused a certain indelicacy and callousness in the statement of the Leading Gentleman, albeit the fair young man appeared annoyed at it. His British blood and instincts became predominant when the killing and eating of a fellow-creature were on the _tapis_--the said fellow-creature being on it at the same time. A colleague from Dar-es-Salaam, who had an ear and a half, three teeth, six fingers, innumerable pockmarks and a German accent, said, "He will have little fat," and there was bitterness in his tone. As a business man he realized a bad investment of capital. The food in which they had wallowed should have gone to the fattening of Moussa Isa. Also a fear struck him. "He'll jump overboard in the night--the ungrateful dog. Tie him up," and he reached for a coil of cord. "He will not be tied up," observed the fair youth in a quiet, obstinate voice. "See, my friend," said the Leading Gentleman, "it is a case of one or many. Better _that_ one," and he pointed to Moussa Isa, "than another," and he looked meaningly at the fair young man. "And yet, I know not," murmured the venerable Arab, "I know not. We are not in the debt of the slave. We _are_ in the debt of the Sheikh. It would cancel all obligations if the Sheikh from the North preferred to offer himself as--" The young man's long knife flashed from its sheath as he sprang to his feet. "Let us eat monkey, if eat we must," he cried, pointing to the Arab--and, even as he spoke, the huge man with the scars, flinging his great arms around the youth's ankles, partly rose and neatly tipped him overboard. He had long hated the fair man. Straightway, unseen by any, as all eyes were on the grey-eyed youth and his assailant, Moussa Isa cast loose the _toni_[41] that nestled beneath the stern of the larger boat. He was about to shout that he had done so when he realised that this would defeat his purpose, and also that the fair Sheikh was still under water. [41] Small dug-out canoe. "Good," murmured the old Arab, "now brain him as he comes up--and secure his body." But the fair youth knew better than to rise in the immediate neighbourhood of the boat. Swimming with the ease, grace and speed of a seal, he emerged with bursting lungs a good hundred yards from where he had disappeared. Having breathed deeply he again sank, to re-appear at a point still more distant, and be lost in the gathering gloom.