Wolf smiled. "Now you, perhaps, see why I gave the feast. My guests, so to speak, have given my venture the government's sanction. In Spain it pays to have official friends, and a tactful present carries weight. The officers are not as fastidious as yours——"
He stopped and Kit wondered whether he had said yours unconsciously. Kit had thought Wolf claimed to be English, but there was a hint of a sneer in his voice.
"What are we to carry?" he asked.
"Cartridges! If you don't like the job, I think I can get another man."
Kit imagined all traffic with native Africans in breach-loading guns and ammunition was forbidden. Moreover, it was obvious the Spanish government would not approve Wolf's supplying the Berber tribes with cartridges. This, however, was the government's business, and Kit was young. Romantic smuggling had some charm; but he hesitated.
"Why do the Berbers want the cartridges?" he asked.
Wolf shrugged. "I don't know their plans. They're a turbulent, independent lot, and sometimes quarrel with their neighbours who are supposed to belong to France. I expect they have a dispute with another tribe in the back country about an oasis, or perhaps the control of a caravan road. Anyhow, I'm sending a small quantity of ammunition, because I want to keep a good customer. Well, I won't persuade you. Are you going?"
"I'll risk it," said Kit, rather doubtfully. "Does the captain know?"
"Of course," said Wolf, smiling. "Don Erminio's not scrupulous and sees a chance of earning something besides his pay. All the same, he understands that while he is navigator you are my representative. But I mustn't leave the others long."
He went off and Kit smoked a fresh cigarette. The adventure had some charm, but he was not altogether satisfied. He had, however, agreed to go, and presently he banished his doubts.