"Oh, yes, there will. I'll hold 'em," said Stump.
"And you approve of my reticence thus far?" asked the Baron.
"Of your wot, mister?"
"I mean, that it was wise not to tell them the object of the voyage."
"Take my advice an' tell 'em nothin'. Wait till they're frizzlin' in the Red Sea, an' I've worked some of the grease out of 'em. By that time, wot between prickly heat an' high livin', they'll be ready to kill any Gord's quantity of I-talians."
"Italians!" snapped von Kerber irritably, "Why do you speak of
Italians?"
"It's your fairy-tale, mister, not mine. You said that wot's 'is name, the Roman who went through the Shebeens, had planted his takin's in I-talian territory."
"Ah!" The Austrian gasped a little, and his pallor increased. "That is of no consequence—the place—is a desert—we shall meet with no interference."
Then Royson spoke. Hitherto, he had taken no share in the conversation, but he saw that von. Kerber was unable to withstand any further strain. The man was bearing up gallantly, yet he had reached the limit of endurance, and the trouble, whatever it was, seemed to be wearing his very soul.
"Neither Captain Stump nor Mr. Tagg knows that you are wounded, sir," said Dick. "Perhaps it would, be advisable to defer our talk until the morning."