“Well, if he's carrying on the same old game,” Trent remarked, “he ought to be coining it! By the by, of course he knows exactly where Monty is?”
“It is what I was about to say,” Da Souza assented, with a vigorous nod of the head. “Now, my dear Mr. Trent, I know that you will have your way. It is no use my trying to dissuade you, so listen. You shall waste no time in searching for Monty. My brother will tell you exactly where he is.”
Trent hesitated. He would have preferred to have nothing at all to do with Da Souza, and the very thought of Oom Sam made him shudder. On the other hand, time was valuable to him and he might waste weeks looking for the man whom Oom Sam could tell him at once where to find. On the whole, it was better to accept Da Souza's offer.
“Very well, Da Souza,” he said, “I have no time to spare in this country and the sooner I get back to England the better for all of us. If your brother knows where Monty is, so much the better for both of us. We will land together and meet him.”
Already the disembarking had commenced. Da Souza and Trent took their places side by side on the broad, flat-bottomed boat, and soon they were off shorewards and the familiar song of the Kru boys as they bent over their oars greeted their ears. The excitement of the last few strokes was barely over before they sprang upon the beach and were surrounded by a little crowd, on the outskirts of whom was Oom Sam. Trent was seized upon by an Englishman who was representing the Bekwando Land and Mining Investment Company and, before he could regain Da Souza, a few rapid sentences had passed between the latter and his brother in Portuguese. Oom Sam advanced to Trent hat in hand—
“Welcome back to Attra, senor?”
Trent nodded curtly.
“Place isn't much changed,” he remarked.
“It is very slowly here,” Oom Sam said, “that progress is made! The climate is too horrible. It makes dead sheep of men.”
“You seem to hang on pretty well,” Trent remarked carelessly. “Been up country lately?”