precious dignity, from what His Whiskers here says."

"They're not going to get the chance," snapped Kettle. "Handcuffs, by
James! Here, clear out, Doc, and let me get the ship under way."

"No," said Clay. "I fancy I've had about enough of the Congo Free State
service, too. I'll come, too."

"Don't be an idiot."

Dr. Clay gave a whimsical laugh. "Have I ever been anything else all my
life?"--He went across and took the revolver out of Balliot's
holster--there, I've burnt my boats. I've disarmed His Whiskers here,
and defied authority, and that gives them a _casus belli_ against me.
You'll have to take me along now out of sheer pity."

"Very well," said Kettle; "help me to shove the three of them into one
of the empty rooms below, and then mount guard on them to see they don't
make a row. We mustn't have them giving the alarm of this new game till
we've got a start on us. You're a good soul, Doc. I'll never forget
this of you."

And so Captain Owen Kettle finally severed his connection with the Congo
Free State service, and set off at once again as his own master. He had
no trouble with the black crew of the launch. The men half adored, half
dreaded him; and, anyway, were prepared to take his orders before any
others. They got the little vessel under weigh again, and just before
the gang-plank was pulled in, Commandant Balliot and his disarmed escort
were driven on to the beach.