There was a little pause. Durnovo looked round as if to make sure
that Joseph and the boatmen were out of earshot.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked suddenly.

Jack Meredith turned and looked at the questioner with a smile. His
hat had slipped to the back of his head, the light of the great
yellow moon fell full upon his clean-cut, sphinx-like face. The
eyes alone seemed living.

"Yes! I can do that."

He was only amused, and the words were spoken half-mockingly; but
his face said more than his lips. It said that even in chaff this
was no vain boast that he was uttering. Even before he had set foot
on African soil he had been asked to keep so many secrets of a
commercial nature. So many had begun by imparting half a secret, to
pass on in due course to the statement that only money was required,
say, a thousand pounds. And, in the meantime, twenty-five would be
very useful, and, if not that, well, ten shillings. Jack Meredith
had met all that before.

But there was something different about Durnovo. He was not
suitably got up. Your bar-room prospective millionaire is usually a
jolly fellow, quite prepared to quench any man's thirst for liquor
or information so long as credit and credulity will last. There was
nothing jolly or sanguine about Durnovo. Beneath his broad-brimmed
hat his dark eyes flashed in a fierce excitement. His hand was
unsteady. He had allowed the excellent cigar to go out. The man