Perhaps she was misjudging him in that. If he had come openly and said that he wanted the Sun Bird, would she have refused it? She did not think so. Then why had he not done that? She tried to put herself in his place, but failed. It was scarcely surprising, for Miguel's was one of those minds which instinctively distrusts the obvious, preferring to hide even the simplest actions under an indirect method.
At this second meeting he noticed the look on her face with misgiving. She had found out something, then. But how much? Better let her tell him. Most likely he would put his foot in it if he spoke first.
'So you got here by giving away your friends?' she began. Miguel's face maintained an irritating blankness.
'You told the pygmies about their tunnel, didn't you?'
'Who said that?'
'I asked Garm why you were allowed here, and he told me.'
'You believe that little monkey?'
'I do.'
Miguel gave a snort of contempt.
'What other lies did he tell you?'
Margaret disregarded the question; she stared at him coldly.
'If that was not your side of the bargain, what was?'
'So you're open to believe what every little swine of a pygmy tells you, eh?'
'What did you do?' she repeated. Miguel's eyes fell.
'Yes, I told them,' he admitted at last.
'That was a pretty low down trick to play on your friends.'
'They were no friends of mine; they were working on their own.'
'But for your good. If they had made the tunnel it would have meant your freedom as well as theirs.' 'If they'd made their tunnel,' he laughed. 'As if they'd ever make their damned tunnel. Why, do you know how long they had been working on it? Years, and others for years before that. They'd never have got it through, the fools. Sweating their guts out over a job which would never be any good to anyone.'
'So you felt justified in throwing away all those years of work by telling the pygmies?'
'Well, who wouldn't for a chance?'
Margaret looked at him with contempt.
'A chance. You chuck away all their work to get here without even a plan of getting any farther. Just hoping for a bit of luck.'
'You're wrong there. I did have a plan.'
'Yes, to get hold of the Sun Bird. Why couldn't you tell me that right out?'
Miguel looked momentarily disconcerted.
'You wouldn't have agreed.'
'Yes, I should, but I'm doubtful now.'
'You——?' Miguel frowned.
'What'll you do if you get out? You've let your friends down once____I very much doubt whether it's worth risking.'
Margaret was speaking rhetorically. She had no intention of withdrawing the offer of the Sun Bird but she had begun to dislike Miguel heartily. He however, took the threat seriously, it frightened him.
'What do you mean? I've got to have it. Do you think I'm going to rot in this lousy hole on account of you? The sooner you lead me to it, the better it'll be for you.'
He glared at her in sudden panic. It was in her power to upset all his plans; to keep him imprisoned here for the rest of his life. It would have been wiser to strike a more submissive note, but his alarm had taken him by surprise.
The counterpart of his frown appeared on Margaret's face. She was unafraid of him, and of his scowls, but she was surprised by the peremptory tone. It was wrong in the circumstances, the kind of outburst one expected from a cornered man, not from one going on a mission of rescue. Nor was she aware of all his misgivings. For one thing, he was not as easy about the pygmies as he pretended. Once they had closed the tunnel, they might take it into their heads to send him back to the prison caves. That would not be pleasant. His own friends whom he had left directing the pygmy forces would not welcome him for throwing away his chance, nor would the revenges of Smith, Ed, and the rest be gentle. Miguel was gifted with an uncomfortably good imagination concerning nastinesses. Then, too, there was the possibility of a pygmy defeat. Suppose the prisoners broke out! Suppose Zickle or one of the others came hunting him through the tunnels! The idea made him sweat. He must have the Sun Bird, and get clean away from all of them. He continued to glare savagely at the girl—he was more used to the positions of the sexes reversed. She said calmly:
'And when you get out?' He looked blank. She continued: 'What are you going to do then? Where are you going to lay information?'
Miguel's reply was vague and unsatisfactory. It sounded lame in his own ears. He ought to have thought up some convincing details. Damn the woman! Margaret allowed him to stumble through.
'So you'd never thought of it,' she said cuttingly as he finished. 'Perhaps you never intended to think of it? It seems to me you're just out to save your own miserable skin—you don't care if the rest of us die here.'
Since this was precisely Miguel's attitude, his protests, though vigorous, were unconvincing. He became more angry; partly with Margaret; partly with himself. He ought to have settled the whole thing last time—in fact, he had considered it settled. Never for a moment had he thought that she might get the whole yarn out of Garm. But for all that, he was irritatingly aware that he might have saved himself had he handled this second talk better.
Of course, she was right—he hoped the rest would rot here. Miguel had never yearned for publicity. If he were to succeed in convincing the authorities of the existence of the pygmies (not an easy matter in itself), he would be in the glare of a veritable floodlight of publicity. Various persons who had been industriously seeking him for years would immediately find him—with fatal consequences. In the all too likely event of his story being disbelieved, he would be sent to the penal battalion as a deserter from the Legion. He had had enough of the Legion proper; the idea of the penal battalion made him feel sick. He'd heard some stories____No, either way it was a poor lookout. All he wanted to do was to re-emerge into the world in the least obtrusive fashion possible.
Margaret was convinced by now that he intended to do nothing to help them. He could see by her face that she believed no word of his protestations. Her mouth was set in an obstinate line. She knew that once he got the Sun Bird they would hear no more of him. Miguel saw that he had gone too far; he allowed his anger to die down, and changed his tactics.
'You don't believe me,' he accused bitterly.
'Not a word,' Margaret agreed.
He was desperate; there was still a chance.
'Why don't you come, too?' he began.
Margaret's first impulse was to disregard the suggestion, but as he continued, she began to wonder. He explained his own difficulties honestly and truthfully. His attitude became for the first time comprehensible. Without any doubt contact with the authorities would put him between the devil and the deep sea.
'But for you, it is different,' he pointed out. 'You can raise hell with the English and the French, and get everyone out.'
The idea tempted. The more she thought of it, the better it seemed. When (and if) they got out, Miguel could disappear, and leave her to make the report. The difficulties which had daunted her before would be diminished by the presence of a companion, and even if she failed, she would at least have tried. The real objection was Miguel himself. He was so slimy. He twisted and turned when there was no need. Why couldn't he have told her before that he was afraid of the authorities? It seemed impossible to trust him an inch. There was no doubt that he had betrayed his companions in the prison caves, and equally little doubt that he would betray anyone else, should he think it to his advantage.