They were having a convivial time of it, and the consumption of whisky was greater than might be deemed discreet in such a climate as that of Loango.
Durnovo was in the act of raising his glass to his lips when the open doorway was darkened, and Guy Oscard stood before him.

The half-breed's jaw dropped; the glass was set down again rather unsteadily on the zinc-covered counter.
"I want you," said Oscard.
There was a little pause, an ominous silence, and Victor Durnovo slowly followed Oscard out of the room, leaving that ominous silence behind.
"I leave for Msala to-night," said Oscard, when they were outside, "and you are coming with me." "I'll see you damned first!" replied Durnovo, with a courage born of Irish whisky.
Guy Oscard said nothing, but he stretched out his right hand suddenly.
His fingers closed in the collar of Victor Durnovo's coat, and that parti-coloured scion of two races found himself feebly trotting through the one street of Loango.
"Le' go!" he gasped.
But the hand at his neck neither relinquished nor contracted.

When they reached the beach the embarkation of the little army was going forward under Maurice Gordon's supervision.

Victor looked at Gordon.

He reflected over the trump card held in his hand, but he was too skilful to play it then..