But his growing anger evaporated suddenly when the opened wallet showed nothing more than a vile-smelling flat plug of very black, molasses-impregnated tobacco.
"Yes, a good pouch, that," he said quietly, closing it up and handing it back to its owner, his face inscrutable. "Is Mr. Harcourt about?"
"In the saloon cabin, sir," and, nodding, the American went on board.
He looked back once and saw Solomon mopping his brow; for some reason the action seemed significant of relief on the part of the supercargo, and Hammer frowned.
"Confound it, I'd like to know a few things!" he muttered savagely. "I'll have a run-in with that fellow yet! Wish I hadn't stood up for him the other night at Prince's; I should have let Harcourt kick him out, and a good job."
And the events which were to follow kept the regret keen in his mind.
CHAPTER III
THE ROAD TO MELINDI
"Well, the beggar was jabbering Arabic with those three men behind the ventilator this morning, and his actions don't look good to me, Harcourt. Oh, you can laugh, and be hanged to you! I tell you that John Solomon has more brains than his position warrants, and that——"
"Oh, nonsense, old chap! Don't be so beastly suspicious; Solomon told me at Port Said that he knew a smattering of Arabic, and he's been tremendously handy. I say, look at those hills, eh?"