so deep, that one scarcely noticed his sightless eye, almost hidden
among a nest of creases; and in spite of the wrinkles, his polished,
shaven head made him look ridiculously youthful because one expected
gray hair and there was none.

"Ask him how he lost his toe-nails, Fred," said I.

But the old man knew enough English to answer for himself. He made a
wry grimace and showed his hands. The finger-nails were gone too.

"Tell us your story, Juma," said Monty.

"Tell 'em about the pembe--the ivory--the much ivory--the meengi
pembe," echoed Fred.

"Let's hear about those nails of his first," said I.

"One thing'll prob'ly lead to another," Yerkes agreed. "Start him on
the toe-nail story."

But it did not lead very far. Fred, who had picked up Kiswahili enough
to piece out the old man's broken English, drew him out and clarified
the tale. But it only went to prove that others besides ourselves had
beard of Tippoo Tib's hoard. Some white man--we could not make bead or
tail of the name, but it sounded rather like Somebody belonging to a
man named Carpets--had trapped him a few years before and put him to
torture in the belief that be knew the secret.

"But me not knowing nothing!" he assured us solemnly, shaking his head
again and again.