"Tell him," said Peter, "that the money will be paid directly we arrive at Dar-es-Salaam."
A faint smile fluttered over the Arab's olivine features.
"Has the Kafir the money with him?" he asked.
"That has nothing to do with the bargain," replied Peter, through his interpreter. "He will be paid promptly and in full when he has carried out his part of the deal, but for that sum we must have suitable accommodation."
For a while the Arab looked decidedly sulky. Then, with another smile, he gave a perfunctory salaam and shouted an order to two of his crew.
The latter promptly disappeared under the poopdeck, where they spent some time shifting gear from one place to another.
When at length they reappeared, the captain led Mostyn to a fairly spacious but low-roofed cabin on the port side of the dhow, and immediately abaft the poop bulkhead.
"That will do for the women," thought Peter. "Now for a place where we can sling our hammocks."
His request through Mahmed for additional accommodation was curtly turned down on the score that it was impossible. Already two of the Arabs had been turned out of their quarters to make room for the Kafirs.
"We won't kick up a shine over that," decided Peter. "Preston and I can have a shelter on deck. We have a right to make use of our own sails. I suppose the women will be safe down here? No lock on the door, but I can show Olive how to jamb it with the blade of an oar. Now there are the lascars to fix up."