"Lord," said the woman, "I am——"
Then she slipped down to the deck.
Coulson fired twice at the fleeing Bikilari, and missed him. Logi, the lover, leapt at him from the beach but fell before a quick knife-thrust.
Bikilari reached the bushes in safety and plunged into the gloom—and into the arms of Ahmed Ali, a swift, silent man, who caught the knife arm in one hand and broke the neck of the murderer with the other—for Ahmed Ali was a famous wrestler in the Kono country.
The city was aroused, naked feet pattered through the street. Jim and Coulson, lying flat on the bow of the steamer, held the curious at bay.
Two hours they lay thus whilst the cold boilers generated energy. Then the paddle wheel threshed desperately astern, and the Grasshopper dragged herself to deep water.
A figure hailed them from the bank in Swaheli.
"Lord," it said, "go you south and meet Sandi—northward is death, for the Isisi are up and the Akasava villagers are in their canoes—also all white men in this land are dead, save Sandi."
"Who are you?" megaphoned Jim, and the answer came faintly as the boat drifted to mid-stream.
"I am Ahmed Ali, the servant of Sandi, whom may God preserve!"