“And now?”
“Seventy-three blacks and twenty-nine tusks.”
“Then two hundred and sixty have died?”
“Yea, O master,” he responded. “The new lash of elephant hide has killed many, and the black death has been responsible for the remainder. Five are suffering from it now, and never a day passes ere one or more is not attacked. I have feared that none will live to sight the mosques of El Obeïd.”
“In short, Yakub, they are a diseased lot—eh? You think they’re worthless?”
“Only two women are left, O master, and both were seized by the black death yesterday.”
“In that case,” observed the Belgian, turning to his partner, “the whole batch are not worth transporting. The game is not, as you English say, worth the lamp.”
“Then what’s your suggestion?” asked Snape.
“Well, as you are so much in fear of these confounded English, we must, I suppose, act.”
“How?”