“The wreck has probably broken up and sunk out of sight by this time. That’s a point in our favour, for the worst danger is from the coast traders and Arab riffraff. Let’s start right away for Zanzibar, by the next steamer.”
“I can’t leave for a week or so,” Elliott confessed, and he explained his reasons for delay.
“I don’t like any women in this thing. This is strictly a man’s game,” commented Bennett.
“Oh, Miss Laurie won’t be in it. But I wired her to come here, and I’ve got to meet her. Why, she thinks her father is alive and here with me.”
“Yes, I suppose you’ve got to wait,” said Bennett, and was silent for several seconds. “But, damn it! this is awful!” he exploded, suddenly. “Every minute counts. Henninger’ll be waiting for us. That other gang must be half-way there by now, and when they don’t find the wreck on Ibo Island they’ll look somewhere else. They’ve got three weeks’ start of us, with ten thousand miles less to go.”
“They won’t find anything,” Elliott attempted, soothingly.
“How do you know they won’t? They’ve got as good a chance as we, haven’t they? Better, by thunder! Besides, there are all sorts of Arab and Berber craft sailing up and down the channel. It seems to me you’ve done nothing all through but waste time.”
“If you’re not satisfied with my ways, you’d better go and join Henninger by yourself,” said Elliott, growing irritated. “You can count me out of it. I’m staying here for the present.”
Bennett looked for a moment as if inclined to take Elliott at his word, and then his face relaxed and he began to laugh.
“Don’t be an idiot, you old jay!” he exclaimed, finally. “Of course I’ll wait for you. You waited for me in St. Louis, didn’t you? Only—well, I’ve been waiting now for four months, and it’s getting on my nerves.”