against him. He will have to take it on the devil's pitchfork. You must
be logical, you know.

"You can't have it both ways. If he is to be punished, it must be after
the custom of the place. This isn't England."

She shuddered slightly, and Dicky went on: "Then, when his head's off,
and his desert-city and his mines are no more, and his slaves change
masters, comes a nice question. Who gets his money? Not that there's
any doubt about who'll get it, but, from your standpoint, who should get
it?"

She shook her head in something like embarrassment.

"Money got by slavery--yes, who should get it?" interposed Kingsley
carefully, for her eyes had turned to him for help. "Would you favour
his heirs getting it? Should it go to the State? Should it go to the
slaves? Should it go to a fund for agitation against slavery? . . .
You, for instance, could make use of a fortune like his in a cause like
that, could you not?" he asked with what seemed boyish simplicity.

The question startled her. "I--I don't know. . . . But certainly
not," she hastened to add; "I couldn't touch the money. It is absurd--
impossible."

"I can't see that," steadily persisted Kingsley. "This money was made
out of the work of slaves. Certainly they were paid--they were, weren't
they?" he asked with mock ignorance, turning to Dicky, who nodded assent.
"They were paid wages by Kingsley--in kind, I suppose, but that's all
that's needed in a country like the Soudan. But still they had to work,