Even if they could win out of the Gold House fortress, what hope had they of making their way through the crowded, tortuous town where, after the African fashion, peopled walked about all night, every one of whom would recognize the white man, whether he were masked or no?
Besides, beyond the town were the river and the guarded walls and gates and beyond them open country where they would be cut off or run down.

No, to attempt escape was suicide.

Suicide! That gave him an idea, why should he not kill himself?
It would be easy enough, for he still had his revolver and a few cartridges, and surely it was better than to enter on such a life as awaited him as the plaything of a priestess of a tribe of fetish-worshipping savages.
But if he killed himself, how about Barbara and how about poor old Jeekie, who would certainly be killed also?
Besides, it was not the right thing to do, and while there is life there is always hope.
Alan paused in his walk up and down the room and looked at Jeekie, who sat upon the floor with his back resting against the stone altar, reflectively pulling down his thick under-lip and letting it fly back, negro-fashion.
"Jeekie," he said, "time's up.

What am I to do ?" "Do, Major ?" he replied with affected cheerfulness.

"Oh! that quite simple.