“Fancy,” said Moïse, “all treasures and all knowledge! I do hope we can leave Yozgad soon.”
He went off to dream about all the treasures of all time for the few hours that remained of the night.
I looked across the spook-board at Hill. His face was drawn with weariness. Séances lasted anything up to six hours; it had been a very hard week, and he was pinched and pale with hunger. But his eyes were glittering.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He pulled out of his pocket two little tubes of morphia pills and looked at them reflectively.
“I was wondering,” he said, “how many of these it takes in coffee to kill a man. It would be a pity to murder the Pimple, he’s such a True Believer, and I’d like to get him an introduction to Sir Oliver Lodge.”
“But,” I objected, “when he wakes up and finds himself half way to Cyprus, he won’t be a True Believer any more, and he’ll try to cut Lodge’s throat if he meets him.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Hill. “True Believers remain True Believers right through everything. When our three wake up they’ll think that OOO is in charge of the boat—that’s all!”
CHAPTER XX
IN WHICH WE ARE FOILED BY A FRIEND