"I'm all right, thanks," replied Durnovo. "I only landed at Liverpool
yesterday. I'm home on business. I'm buying rifles and stores."

Guy Oscard's honest face lighted up at once--the curse of Ishmael was on
him in its full force. He was destined to be a wanderer on God's earth,
and all things appertaining to the wild life of the forests were music
in his ears.

Durnovo was no mean diplomatist. He had learnt to know man, within a
white or coloured skin. The effect of his words was patent to him.

"You remember the Simiacine?" he said abruptly.

"Yes."

"I've found it."

"The devil you have! Sit down."

Durnovo took the chair indicated.

"Yes, sir," he said, "I've got it. I've laid my hand on it at last. I've
always been on its track. That has been my little game all the time. I
did not tell you when we met out there, because I was afraid I should
never find it, and because I wanted to keep quiet about it."

Guy Oscard was looking out of the window across to the dull houses and
chimneys that formed his horizon, and in his eyes there was the longing
for a vaster horizon, a larger life.

"I have got a partner," continued Durnovo, "a good man--Jack Meredith,
son of Sir John Meredith. You have, perhaps, met him."

"No," answered Oscard; "but I have heard his name, and I have met Sir
John--the father--once or twice."

"He is out there," went on Durnovo, "getting things together quietly. I
have come home to buy rifles, ammunition, and stores."

He paused, watching the eager, simple face.

"We want to know," he said quietly, "if you will organise and lead the
fighting men."

Guy Oscard drew a deep breath. There are some Englishmen left, thank
Heaven! who love fighting for its own sake, and not only for the gain of
it. Such men as this lived in the old days of chivalry, at which modern
puny carpet-knights make bold to laugh, while inwardly thanking their
stars that they live in the peaceful age of the policeman. Such men as
this ran their thick simple heads against many a windmill, couched lance
over many a far-fetched insult, and swung a sword in honour of many a
worthless maid; but they made England, my masters. Let us remember that
they made England.

"Then there is to be fighting?"

"Yes," said Durnovo, "there will be fighting. We must fight our way
there, and we must hold it when we get there. But so far as the world is
concerned, we are only a private expedition exploring the source of the
Ogowe."