was looking his way. Their
glance passed over him, under him, round him, anywhere but at him.

As his sobriquet suggested, the colouring of Pereira's flesh was yellow,
and the loose skin hung in huge wrinkles upon his cheeks. His mouth was
large and coarse, and his fat hands twitched and grasped continually, as
though with a desire of clutching money. For the rest he was gorgeously
dressed, and, like his companions, somewhat in liquor.

Such was the outward appearance of Pereira, the fountain-head of the
slave-trade on this part of the coast, who was believed in his day to
be the very worst man in Africa, a pre-eminence to which few can hope to
attain. Until his face had been seen, stamped as it was with the traces
of long and unmentionable wickedness, few honest men could guess to what
depths humanity can sink. Some indeed have declared that to see him was
to understand the Evil One and all his works.

CHAPTER XII

A CHOICE LOT

At the moment of Leonard's and Otter's introduction to his society, the
Yellow Devil was about to make a speech, and all eyes were fixed on him
so intently that none saw or heard the pair approach.

"Now, my friends, make a path, if you please," said Leonard in a loud
voice and speaking in Portuguese. "I wish to pay my respects to your
chief."

A dozen men wheeled round at once.

"Who are you?" they cried, seeing a stranger.

"If you will be so kind as to let me pass, I shall be most happy to
explain," Leonard answered, pushing his way through the throng.

"Who is that?" cried Pereira in coarse, thick tones. "Bring him here."

"There, you hear him--let us through, friends," said Leonard, "let us
through!"

Thus adjured the throng opened a path, and Leonard and Otter passed down
it, many suspicious eyes scanning them as they went.

"A greeting to you, senor," said Leonard when they had emerged in front
of the verandah.

"Curse your greeting! Who in Satan's name are you?"

"A humble member of your honourable profession," said Leonard coolly,
"come to pay his respects and do a little business."

"Are you? You don't look it. You look like an Englishman. And who is
that abortion, pray?" and he pointed to Otter. "I believe that you are
spies, and, by the Saints, if you are, I am the man to deal with you!"

"This is a likely story," said Leonard laughing, "that one man and a
black dog should venture into the headquarters of gentlemen like you,
not being of the cloth. But I thi