"I don't know," said Wyndham, with a curious smile. "Perhaps strange experiences; perhaps knowledge and power. I imagine he knew he must buy them and was willing to pay." "Power over tattooed bushmen!" Marston exclaimed. "What could they teach him?" "Things we have begun to experiment with and their Ju-Ju men knew long since. The white man who knows the meaning of their tattoo marks has gone some distance; they're not all tribal signs. However, I don't know what Rupert Wyndham learned and it looks as if I shall not find out. Our object's very matter of fact; to earn as much money as possible." "That is so. I mean to stick to it," said Marston firmly. Wyndham laughed. "I expect you mean to see I take your line! Well, it's a good line. But we're getting near the bar. Suppose you fetch the chart?" CHAPTER V THE TORNADO The night was hot and nearly calm, and Marston, sitting on the cabin skylight, languidly looked about. A Krooboy held the wheel, and his dark figure cut against the phosphorescent sea. _Columbine_'s bulwarks were low and when she rolled the long, smooth swell ran level with their top. A dim glow came from the compass binnacle, but the schooner was close-hauled and the Kroo steered by the faint strain on the helm. The wind was light and baffling and _Columbine_ beat against it as she worked along the coast. She carried all her canvas and her high gaff-topsail swung rhythmically across the sky, shutting out the stars. Her dark mainsail looked very big and every now and then shook down a shower of dew as its slack curves swelled. A small moon touched the tops of the undulations with silver light, and when the bows went down the foam that leaped about the planks glimmered with green and gold. Booms and blocks rattled and timbers groaned. Marston could not see the land, which was hidden by the sour, hot mist that at sunset rolls off the African coast. He did not want to see it; he hoped he had done with Africa, but he doubted. _Columbine_ was on the track the keels of the old slavers plowed, and he felt that the shadow of the dark country might follow him across the sea. Long since, Africa had peopled South America and the West Indies; Wyndham's ancestors had helped in that. One found mangrove swamps, fever, and negro superstition on the Caribbean coast, and it was significant that Rupert Wyndham had vanished there. The trouble was Harry had inherited something of his uncle's temperament. All the same, Marston had undertaken to stand by him and meant to do so.