"Lord," she answered, her voice muffled, "if you desire your life, do not stay here."
Jim thrust his face nearer to the woman's.
"Say what you must say very quickly," he said.
"Lord," she began again, "my husband is Bikilari, a worker in iron. He is the man of Ofesi, and to-night Ofesi sends his killers to do his work upon all white men and upon all chiefs who thwart him. Also upon you because you are white and there is treasure in your ship."
"Wait," said Jim, and turned to tap on Coulson's door. There was no need. Coulson was out of bed at the first sound of whispering and now stood in the doorway, the moonlight reflected in a cold blue line on the revolver he held in his hand.
"It may be a fake—but there's no reason why it should be," he said when the story was told. "We'll chance the hole in the bow."
Jim ran forward and woke the sleeping engineer, and came back with the first crackle of burning wood in the furnace.
He found the woman waiting.
"What is your name?" he asked.
She stood with her back to the tiny rail, an easy mark for the man who had followed her and now crouched in the shadow of the hull. He could reach up and touch her. He slipped out his long N'gombi hunting knife and felt the point.