“More than ever.  The weaker Lilla seemed, the stronger he became, just as if he were feeding on her strength.  All at once she turned round, threw up her hands, and fell down in a faint.  I could not see what else happened just then, for Mimi had thrown herself on her knees beside her and hid her from me.  Then there was something like a black shadow between us, and there was the nigger, looking more like a malignant devil than ever.  I am not usually a patient man, and the sight of that ugly devil is enough to make one’s blood boil.  When he saw my face, he seemed to realise danger—­immediate danger—­and slunk out of the room as noiselessly as if he had been blown out.  I learned one thing, however—­he is an enemy, if ever a man had one.”

“That still leaves us three to two!” put in Sir Nathaniel.

“Then Caswall slunk out, much as the nigger had done.  When he had gone, Lilla recovered at once.”

“Now,” said Sir Nathaniel, anxious to restore peace, “have you found out anything yet regarding the negro?  I am anxious to be posted regarding him.  I fear there will be, or may be, grave trouble with him.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve heard a good deal about him—­of course it is not official; but hearsay must guide us at first.  You know my man Davenport—­private secretary, confidential man of business, and general factotum.  He is devoted to me, and has my full confidence.  I asked him to stay on board the West African and have a good look round, and find out what he could about Mr. Caswall.  Naturally, he was struck with the aboriginal savage.  He found one of the ship’s stewards, who had been on the regular voyages to South Africa.  He knew Oolanga and had made a study of him.  He is a man who gets on well with niggers, and they open their hearts to him.  It seems that this Oolanga is quite a great person in the nigger world of the African West Coast.  He has the two things which men of his own colour respect:  he can make them afraid, and he is lavish with money.  I don’t know whose money—­but that does not matter.  They are always ready to trumpet his greatness.  Evil greatness it is—­but neither does that matter.  Briefly, this is his history.  He was originally a witch-finder—­about as low an occupation as exists amongst aboriginal savages.  Then he got up in the world and became an Obi-man, which gives an opportunity to wealth via blackmail.  Finally, he reached the highest honour in hellish service.  He became a user of Voodoo, which seems to be a service of the utmost baseness and cruelty.  I was told some of his deeds of cruelty, which are simply sickening.  They made me long for an opportunity of helping to drive him back to hell.  You might think to look at him that you could measure in some way the extent of his vileness; but it would be a vain hope.  Monsters such as he is belong to an earlier and more rudimentary stage of barbarism.  He is in his way a clever