"And may I ask," said Cæsar, "what you are doing here?"
Crouch made a motion of his hand towards de Costa, who had sunk down upon the bed.
"This man's ill," said he; "in fact, he's dying."
"He is always dying," said Cæsar, "and he never dies. He has the vitality of a monkey."
"It doesn't seem to distress you much," said Crouch. "Since you have lived together for two years, in a forsaken spot like this, I should have thought that you were friends."
Cæsar threw out his hand.
"Ah," he cried, "we are the best friends in the world--de Costa and myself."
He stood looking down upon Crouch, with his white teeth gleaming between his black moustache and his beard. In that light it was difficult to see whether he smiled or sneered. There was something mysterious about the man, and something that was fiendish.
"And so," he ran on, "Captain Crouch has taken upon himself the duties of medical officer of Makanda? I'm sure we are much obliged."
"I have some experience of medicine," said the captain.