he had been approached, too.
"Follow me outside when I go," I said.
A few minutes later he found me in the courtyard, and I learned that Schwartz had sounded him that day; told him that he must choose between being a pig or a butcher; and had given him a couple of days in which to make up his mind. Schwartz had concluded by informing St. André that all who were not for him would be treated as being against him, and that eighty per cent of the men had willingly taken the oath to follow him and to obey him absolutely. . . .
"What are you going to do, St. André?" I asked.
"What you and your brother do," was the immediate reply.
He went on to say that he had thought of nothing else from the moment he had learnt of the plot, and that he had come to the conclusion that he would join with Michael and me, to do what seemed the best thing.
"You see, my friend," he concluded, "one, of course, cannot join in with these poor madmen--one has been an officer and a gentleman. Even if one had sunk low enough to do such a thing, and one eased one's conscience by saying that Lejaune deserves death, the fact remains that these lunatics can but step from the frying-pan into the fire."
"Exactly," I agreed.
"Here we live--in hell, I admit--but we do live, and we are not here for ever," he went on. "Out in the desert we shall not live. Those who do not die of thirst, will die by slow torture under the knives of the Arab women."
"They will," said I.
"Besides," he continued, "I would not join them if we could march straight into the service of the Sultan of Morocco and be welcomed and rewarded with high rank in his army. . . . I am a Frenchman and have been an officer and a gentleman. . . . I am here through no fault of my own. St. André is my real name. My brother is a Lieutenant in a Senegalese battalion. . . . But you and your brother are not Frenchmen, and if you could get to Morocco, each of you could be another Kaid McLean. . . . But you could not get to Morocco on foot from here. . . . You would be hunted like mad dogs, apart from all question of food and water. . . . You could not do it. . . ."
"We are not Frenchmen and we have not been officers, St. André," I replied; "but we are gentlemen--and we do not murder nor join murder-gangs. . . . And as you say--we could not do it and would not if we could."
"No, I knew you would not join them," said St. André, seizing my hand, "and I told myself I should do just what you and your brother did."
"Well--I'll talk it over with him as soon as he comes off duty, and we will let you know what we decide," I said, "but certainly it will not be to join them.
"Meanwhile," I added, "you get hold of Maris--he's a decent good chap, and see what he has got to say. You might try Glock, Dobroff, Marigny, Blanc, and Cordier, too, if you get a chance. . . . They are among the least mad in this lunatic asylum."
"Yes," agreed St. André, "if we can form a party of our own, we may be able to save the situation," and he went off.
I waited for Michael, sitting on a native bed, of string plaited across a wooden frame, that stood by the courtyard wall near the guard-room.
Seated here in the stifling dark, I listened to the gibberings, groans, yells, and mad laughter that came from the cellules, where some of Lejaune's victims were being driven more and more insane by solitary confinement and starvation.
When Michael was relieved, I followed him as he went to the barrack-room to put his rifle in the rack and throw off his kit.
"I'll be sitting on the angareb," I said. "More developments."
"I'll be with you in five minutes," he replied.
When he joined me, I told him what Guantaio had said, and I added my own views on the situation, together with those of St. André.
Michael listened in silence.
"Position's this, I think," he said, when I had finished. "Schwartz and his band of lunatics proposing to murder Lejaune and anybody who stands by him, Guantaio has given the show away to Corporal Boldini because he thinks the mutiny too risky. Boldini wants to join the mutineers if they're likely to be successful--but not otherwise. Probably he, Guantaio, Colonna, Gotto, and Bolidar are in league to get the mighty 'diamond'--one way or the other--out of this mutiny. If we join the mutineers, Boldini and Co. will join, too, with the idea of killing me and robbing me in the desert and getting to Morocco with the Cullinan-Kohinoor. . . . Or to put it more truly, Boldini would get the 'Co.' to do the murdering and stealing, and then kill or rob whichever of his gang brought it off. If we refuse to join the mutineers, Boldini's plan would then be to get Guantaio to murder me in my bed--ostensibly for being a traitor to the noble cause of mutiny--and pinch the Great Diamond from my belt. . . . Failing that, Boldini would use us in helping to suppress the mutiny, hoping that, in the scrap, I might get done in, and he could rob my corpse. He could do more than hope it. He could arrange it. . . ."
"On the other hand," said I, "Boldini may know nothing whatever about the plot, and Guantaio may be wondering whether to let the mutiny go on, or whether to warn his old pal Boldini and give the show away."
"Quite so," agreed Michael. "We're absolutely in the dark in dealing with hopeless congenital bred-in-the-bone liars like Guantaio. We can only go on probabilities, and, on the whole, the swine seemed to be egging you on to join the plot. . . . Well, that means he has some definite personal interest in our joining it. Obviously if he hadn't, he wouldn't care a damn whether we joined it or not."
"What's to be done, Beau?" I asked.
"Get together an opposition-gang of non-mutineers, and then tell Schwartz plainly that we are going to warn Lejaune and also going to obey Lejaune's orders on the subject," was the prompt reply.
"Exactly," said I. "Just about what I told Guantaio. . . . And St. André will stand in with us, whatever we decide to do.
"But suppose we can get no one else," I pondered.
"Then we and St. André will warn Lejaune and tell him he can count on us three to be true to our salt," said Michael.
"Without warning Schwartz?" I asked.
"Certainly not," replied Michael. "We can't sneak like that."
"Of course, Schwartz and Co. will do us in, as traitors," I observed.
"Probably," agreed Michael. "Try to, anyhow."
"If we can get up a strongish party, Schwartz's lot may chuck the idea of mutiny," he went on. "If they don't, it will be a case of who strikes first. We must warn Lejaune the moment we've made it quite clear to Schwartz that we're going to do so then and there, unless he gives up the whole idea. . . . Whether he gives it up, or not, will depend on the number we can get to back us."
We sat silent for a minute or two, pondering this cheerful position.
"Tell you what," he said suddenly, "we'll call a meeting. The Briton's panacea. To-morrow evening at six, the other side of the oasis, and we'll invite St. André, Blanc, Cordier, Marigny, and any other Frenchmen who'd be likely to follow St. André. Then there's Maris, Dobroff, Glock, and Ramon, among the foreigners, who might join us. . . . I wish to God that Digby, Hank, and Buddy were here."
"They'd make all the difference," said I.
"Well--if
