Gordon saw at once that the rumour was true. There was a hunted unwholesome look in Durnovo's eyes. He looked shaken, and failed to convey a suggestion of personal dignity. “Hulloa!” exclaimed the proprietor of the decanter. “You look a bit chippy. I have been told there is small-pox up at Msala.” “So have I. I've just heard it from Meredith.” “Just heard it--is Meredith down here too?” “Yes, and the fool wants to go back to-night. I have to meet him on the beach at four o'clock.” Maurice Gordon sat down, poured out for himself a glass of sherry, and drank it thoughtfully. “Do you know, Durnovo,” he said emphatically, “I have my doubts about Meredith being a fool.” “Indeed!” with a derisive laugh. “Yes.” Maurice Gordon looked over his shoulder to see that the door was shut. “You'll have to be very careful,” he said. “The least slip might let it all out. Meredith has a quiet way of looking at one which disquiets me. He might find out.” “Not he,” replied Durnovo confidently, “especially if we succeed; and we shall succeed--by God we shall!” Maurice Gordon made a little movement of the shoulders, as indicating a certain uneasiness, but he said nothing. There was a pause of considerable duration, at the end of which Durnovo produced a paper from his pocket and threw it down. “That's good business,” he said. “Two thousand tusks,” murmured Maurice Gordon. “Yes, that's good. Through Akmed, I suppose?” “Yes. We can outdo these Arabs at their own trade.” An evil smile lighted up Durnovo's sallow face. When he smiled, his dropping, curtain-like moustache projected in a way that made keen observers of the human face wonder what his mouth was like. Gordon, who had been handling the paper with the tips of his finger, as if it were something unclean, threw it down on the table again. “Ye--es,” he said slowly; “but it does not seem to dirty black hands as it does white. They know no better.” “Lord!” ejaculated Durnovo. “Don't let us begin the old arguments all over again. I thought we settled that the trade was there; we couldn't prevent it, and therefore the best thing is to make hay while the sun shines, and then clear out of the country.” “But suppose Meredith finds out?” reiterated Maurice Gordon, with a lamentable hesitation that precedes loss. “If Meredith finds out, it will be the worse for him.” A certain concentration of tone aroused Maurice Gordon's attention, and he glanced uneasily at his companion. “No one knows what goes on in the heart of Africa,” said Durnovo darkly. “But we will not trouble about that; Meredith won't find out.” “Where is he now?” “With your sister, at the bungalow. A lady's man--that is what he is.”