genson
would emerge up the stairs as if from a dark sea, and, stepping up with
a kind of tottering jauntiness, would help himself in the first tumbler
to hand.

"I drink to you all. No--no chair."

He would stand silent over the talking group. His taciturnity was as
eloquent as the repeated warning of the slave of the feast. His flesh
had gone the way of all flesh, his spirit had sunk in the turmoil of his
past, but his immense and bony frame survived as if made of iron. His
hands trembled but his eyes were steady. He was supposed to know details
about the end of mysterious men and of mysterious enterprises. He was an
evident failure himself, but he was believed to know secrets that would
make the fortune of any man; yet there was also a general impression
that his knowledge was not of that nature which would make it profitable
for a moderately prudent person.

This powerful skeleton, dressed in faded blue serge and without any kind
of linen, existed anyhow. Sometimes, if offered the job, he piloted
a home ship through the Straits of Rhio, after, however, assuring the
captain:

"You don't want a pilot; a man could go through with his eyes shut. But
if you want me, I'll come. Ten dollars."

Then, after seeing his charge clear of the last island of the group he
would go back thirty miles in a canoe, with two old Malays who seemed
to be in some way his followers. To travel thirty miles at sea under
the equatorial sun and in a cranky dug-out where once down you must not
move, is an achievement that requires the endurance of a fakir and the
virtue of a salamander. Ten dollars was cheap and generally he was in
demand. When times were hard he would borrow five dollars from any of
the adventurers with the remark:

"I can't pay you back, very soon, but the girl must eat, and if you want
to know anything, I can tell you."

It was remarkable that nobody ever smiled at that "anything." The usual
thing was to say:

"Thank you, old man; when I am pushed for a bit of information I'll come
to you."

Jorgenson nodded then and would say: "Remember that unless you young
chaps are like we men who ranged about here years ago, what I could tell
you would be worse than poison."

It was from Jorgenson, who had his favourites with whom he was less
silent, that Lingard had heard of Darat-es-Salam, the "Shore of Refuge."
Jorgenson had, as he expressed it, "known the inside of that country
just after the high old times when the white