"All right. You stay where you are."
So, having no more fears that the boatswain would prove insubordinate, Hammer rummaged around in the effects of Dr. Krausz until he found a length of very serviceable wire-twisted cord which would make a good substitute for handcuffs. He was going to take no chances with Adolf Jenson. A moment later he started for the hill. With one of the sailors to accompany them and fetch back the launch from Melindi, he could take care of Jenson. He found Krausz and the secretary at their table beneath the sun-shelter, and perhaps something in his eye warned the latter, for Jenson started to his feet as Hammer came up.
"You're coming back to Mombasa with me, Jenson," said the American, reaching forward and dragging the fellow out bodily by the collar. "Stick out your hands, you little beast!"
"Was ist?" The doctor's voice was very gentle, but Hammer felt a little rim of steel touching his neck. "Let that man go please, yess?"
CHAPTER VIII
IN THE OPEN
Cyrus Hammer had never felt a revolver-muzzle against the back of his neck before, and the touch was decidedly unpleasant. It sent a peculiar cold chill quivering down the length of his spine, and there was an odd note in the doctor's voice which sent the same kind of a chill through his brain.
In no sense was the American a coward, but he had seen enough of life to have grasped an extremely difficult accomplishment—that of knowing when a man is in cold earnest, from the mere tone of his voice.
Dr. Krausz was just at present in earnest, and therefore Hammer loosened his grip on Jenson and tossed his length of cord on the table; there had swiftly leaped into his mind a premonition that he had overlooked the most difficult part of the proposition—by name, Dr. Sigurd Krausz.
"Now will you please explain, Mr. Hammer."