Georges Coutlass threw back his head and roared with laughter, slapped
his thighs, held his sides--then coughed for two or three minutes, and
spat blood.

"You are the lord, all right!" he gasped as soon as he could get
breath. "No need to smuggle it! Ha-ha! May I be damned! Ten per
cent. they'll give us! Ha-ha! Generous! By whip and wheel! they're
lucky if we give them five per cent.! I'd like to see any government
take away from Georges Coutlass ninety per cent. of anything without a
fight! No, gentlemen! No, my Lord! The Belgian Congo government is
corrupt. Let us spend twenty-five per cent.--even thirty-forty-fifty
per cent. of the value of it to bribe the Congo officials. Hand over
ninety per cent. to the Germans or the British without a fight?--Never!
Never while my name is Georges Coutlass! I have fought too often! I
have been robbed by governments too often! This last time I will put
it over all the governments, and be rich at last, and go home to Greece
to live like a gentleman! Believe me!"

He patted himself on the breast, and if flashing eye and frothing lip
went for anything, then all the governments were as good as defeated
already.

"You are the lord, are you not?" he demanded, looking straight at Fred.

"My name is Oakes," Fred answered.

"Oh, then you? I beg pardon!" He looked at me with surprise that he
made no attempt to conceal. Fred could pass for a king with that
pointed beard of his (provided he were behaving himself seemly at the