Part 4 (2/2)

We spent the evening piling up evidence in our favour Soal, and ordinarily the cafes would have been full of politicians, but the war had quieted all these local squabbles, and the talk was of nothing but as doing in France and Russia The place ent to was a big, well-lighted show on a main street, and there were a lot of sharp-eyed felloandering about that I guessed were spies and police agents I knew that Britain was the one country that doesn't bother about this kind of gao

I talked Portuguese fairly well, and Peter spoke it like a Lourenco Marques bar-keeper, with a lot of Shangaan words to fill up He started on curacao, which I reckoned was a new drink to hihbours pricked up their ears, and soon we had a small crowd round our table

We talked to each other of Maritz and our doings It didn't see blue-black fellow said that Maritz was a dirty sould soon be hanged Peter quickly caught his knife-wrist with one hand and his throat with the other, and deot it The Lisbon boulevardiers have not lost any lions

After that there was a bit of a squash in our corner Those near to us were very quiet and polite, but the outer fringe al, which he ad the wrong horse, there was aold felloho had the air of a shi+p's captain, flushed all over his honest face, and stood up looking straight at Peter I saw that we had struck an Englishman, and mentioned it to Peter in Dutch

Peter played his part perfectly He suddenly shut up, and, with furtive looks around hian to jabber to e conspirator

The old fellow stood staring at us 'I don't very well understand this dao,' he said; 'but if so be you dirty Dutchland, I'll ask you to repeat it And if so be as you repeats it I'll take either of you on and knock the face off him'

He was a chap after a in a public house 'Re,' I said darkly Peter nodded, and the old fellow, after staring at us for a bit, spat scornfully, and walked out

'The ti small,' I observed to the crowd We stood drinks to one or two, and then swaggered into the street At the door a hand toucheddown, I saw a little scrap of a entlelass of beer?' he said in very stiff Dutch

'Who the devil are you?' I asked

'Gott strafe England!' was his answer, and, turning back the lapel of his coat, he showed some kind of ribbon in his buttonhole

'Amen,' said Peter 'Lead on, friend We don't mind if we do'

He led us to a back street and then up two pairs of stairs to a very snug little flat The place was filled with fine red lacquer, and I guessed that art-dealing was his noal, since the republic broke up the convents and sold up the big royalist grandees, was full of bargains in the lacquer and curio line

He filled us two long tankards of very good Munich beer

'Prosit,' he said, raising his glass 'You are from South Africa What make you in Europe?'

We both looked sullen and secretive

'That's our own business,' I answered 'You don't expect to buy our confidence with a glass of beer'

'So?' he said 'Then I will put it differently Frolish'

Peter said sorandruesohed 'That is all I want to know You are on the German side?'

'That reht for theland has stolen my country and corrupted et We reat price Gerland in East Africa We know the natives as no Englishmen can ever know theh at theht like devils for fear of us What is the reward, little man, for our services? I will tell you There will be no reward We ask none We fight for hate of England'

Peter grunted a deep approval