"Fever," said Montgomery dryly. "The salvage people lost some men. Surf will wash the sand about her, if the wind comes fresh from the south-east. Then the sharks may give you some trouble. They're nearly as numerous as they are at Lagos Roads." He paused and added carelessly: "I expect you know my father loaded Arcturus?"
"I heard something about it," Brown replied. "All the same, Cartwright sent us to lift her and we have got to try. Will you let me hire some of your factory boys?"
"Sorry, but they're Liberian Kroos, engaged on a twelve-months' contract to work in my compound, and I'm accountable for them to the Liberian government."
"Then what about boys from the bush?"
Montgomery smiled. "I can't recommend the bushmen. They're a turbulent lot, but you might send a present to the headman at the native town up river, and it's possible he'll let you go to see him. For all that, some caution's indicated. The fellow's a cunning old rascal."
Brown looked thoughtful, but began to talk about something else and by and by got up. Montgomery went with him and Lister to the steps and when they reached the compound they found the sailors bemused with gin under the veranda. Brown had some trouble to get the men on board, and when they awkwardly pulled away Lister was conscious of relief.
"I agree with the fellow. Caution is indicated," Brown observed.
[CHAPTER III]
[A FUEL PROBLEM]
A few days after his visit to the factory, Lister sat one morning under a tarpaulin they had stretched across the hulk. The paint on the canvas smelt as if it burned, but the awning gave some shade and one could not front the sun on the open deck. The sea breeze had not sprung up and dazzling reflections played about the oily surface of the swell. In one place, where the shadow of the wreck fell, the water was a cool, dull green.