"By the way, I'd like to know just how many are in your party, doctor. Our steward wants to get the cabins in shape."
"My party? Nein, there will be but myself and my secretary going out. Professor Helmuth my assistant, leaves to-day for Mombasa to get things started, and coming back we will perhaps crowd the ship, yess.
"My second mate, Hans Schlak, will bring the men aboard to-morrow; if our necessary permits, and so on, arrive from the British Colonial Office, we will leave the day after. They should be here already. That iss satisfactory?"
"Perfectly—" began Hammer, when a third voice interrupted apologetically.
"In half an hour the Mombasa sails, Herr Doctor!"
Krausz turned with an exclamation. Shuffling out from a shadowed corner of the room, Hammer saw a black-clad, small, flat-chested man, with deep-set, furtive eyes, high brow, and retreating chin; the chin did not express weakness altogether, for it was rather the fox chin, which denotes cunning and ability. The doctor waved a hand.
"Mr. Hammer, my secretary, Adolf Jenson. Very good, Adolf; better take a taxi and deliver the papers in person. Remember, Professor Sara L. Helmuth, stateroom 12 B."
With this he turned to the desk and picked up a small black rubber wallet, which Jenson took with something very like a cringe, departing with an inaudible murmur of words.
Somewhat disgusted with the man, Hammer followed him, once more gripping the firm hand of Krausz and taking with him the remembrance of cordial words and an effusive smile from the big scientist.
The American stopped in the hotel entrance to light the doctor's cigar, and, as he glanced over his cupped hands, he saw something that astonished him. For there, just at the curb, and beckoning frantically to the nearest taxi, was no less a person than his supercargo, honest John Solomon!