There he turned and whispered the reader's name. The man raised
his eyes from the magazine--eyes that went wide for a moment as
they fell upon the familiar countenance of Rokoff's lieutenant,
only to narrow instantly in a scowl of disapproval.
"The devil!" he ejaculated. "Where did you come from? We all
thought you were done for and gone where you ought to have gone a
long time ago. His lordship will be mighty pleased to see you."
Paulvitch crossed to the sailor's side. A friendly smile lay on
the Russian's lips, and his right hand was extended in greeting,
as though the other might have been a dear and long lost friend.
The sailor ignored the proffered hand, nor did he return the other's
smile.
"I've come to help you," explained Paulvitch. "I'm going to help
you get rid of the Englishman and his beasts--then there will be
no danger from the law when we get back to civilization. We can
sneak in on them while they sleep--that is Greystoke, his wife,
and that black scoundrel, Mugambi. Afterward it will be a simple
matter to clean up the beasts. Where are they?"
"They're below," replied the sailor; "but just let me tell you
something, Paulvitch. You haven't got no more show to turn us men
against the Englishman than nothing. We had all we wanted of you
and that other beast.
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