Not until Fred Ashman found himself in the air on the outside of the place did he realize what he had done.  He feared that he had committed a fatal indiscretion, but when he asked, himself whether he would recall it if he could, his heart said “No.”

The afternoon was drawing to a close, and there was a sensible coolness in the air.  The natives who had remained standing round the front of the palace, when the explorers first went inside, had grown tired of waiting and, scattered in different directions.  The Murhapa village wore its usual appearance, so in contrast with what met the eyes of our friends when they first saw it.

The Professor and the New Englander were waiting near the door for Ashman to join them.  As he came out, the former shook his head, with a laugh, as an intimation that the young man in the ardor of his interest had made a mistake.

Fred admitted that possibly he had forgotten himself, but added that it was now too late to recall what had been done, and he was not sure that he would do so, if the opportunity were given.

“At any rate,” said he, “we are promised safe treatment for a couple of days, provided we don’t stray off or misbehave ourselves.  Our visit can’t amount to anything after all, since we must start for home whenever King Haffgo gives his command.”

“A good deal may take place in two days,” said the Professor significantly.

“And a good deal after five days,” was the more significant remark of Jared Long.

It was evident from these declarations that Grimcke and Long had in mind the same thought; which came to Ashman himself, when the ruler of the Murhapas made known to his guests that they must take their departure within such a brief period.

While no one of the three would have dared to signify dissent, yet they were not the men to come so many hundred miles, forcing their way through endless dangers to turn about and retrace their steps at the command of a savage who looked upon himself as king, simply because he was able to lord it over a horde of barbarians.

It was no place to discuss their plans, in front of the “palace,” especially as the natives were beginning to gather around them again, and among them it was certain was more than one who understood the English tongue “as she is spoke.”

They were waiting for the coming of Ziffak, who was still within.  He was their chaperon, and without his guidance, they did not dare to move from the spot.

“Hark!” suddenly exclaimed the Professor, raising his hand as a signal for the whispering to cease.

The sound of voices was heard inside.  They recognized the tones of Ziffak, to which they had become accustomed since the previous night.  Those of King Haffgo were also distinguishable, and there could be no doubt to whom the low silvery accents heard only occasionally belonged.

The alarming feature of it all was, that the king was in an unmistakably angry mood.  He not only talked fast but he talked loud, sure evidence of his excited feelings.  It sounded as if Ziffak was striving to placate him, but his royal brother grew more savage each moment.