Umballa, having satisfied himself that the camp would not break till morning, slunk away into the shadows.  He had failed again; but his hate had made him strong.  He was naked except for a loin clout.  His beard and hair were matted, the latter hanging over his eyes.  His body was smeared with ashes.  Not even Ahmed would have recognized him a yard off.  He had something less than nine hours to reach the cape before they did; and it was necessary that he should have accomplices.  The fishermen he knew to be of predatory habits, and the promise of gold would enmesh them.

The half island which constituted the cape had the shape of a miniature volcano.  There was verdure at the base of its slope and trees lifted their heads here and there hardily.  It was a mile long and half a mile wide; and in the early morning it stood out like a huge sapphire against the rosy sea.  Between the land and the promontory there lay a stretch of glistening sand; there was half a mile of it.  Over this a flock of gulls were busy, as scavengers always are.  At high tide, yonder was an island in truth.

Sometimes a British gunboat would drop down here suddenly; but it always wasted its time.  The fishermen knew nothing; nothing in the way of guns and powder ever was found; and yet the British Raj knew that somewhere about lay the things for which it so diligently and vigorously sought.

On the beach fishermen were disembarking.  A sloop with a lateen sail lay at anchor in the rude harbor.  Some of the fishermen were repairing nets, and some were tinkering about their fishing boats.  Beyond the beach nestled a few huts.  Toward these other fishermen were making progress.

The chief of the village—­the head man—­disembarked from this sloop.  He was met by his wife and child, and the little one clambered about his legs in ecstasy.  Among the huts stood one more imposing than the others, and toward this the chief and his family wended their way.  In front of the hut stood an empty bullock cart.  Attached to one of the wheels was a frisking kid.  The little child paused to play with her pet.

Absorbed in her pastime, she did not observe the approach of a gaunt being with matted hair and beard and ash-besmirched body.  Children are gifted with an instinct which leaves us as we grow older; the sensing of evil without seeing or understanding it.  The child suddenly gazed up, to meet a pair of eyes black and fierce as a kite’s.  She rose screaming and fled toward the house.

The holy man shrugged and waited.

When the parents rushed out to learn what had frightened their little one they were solemnly confronted by Umballa.

“I am hungry.”

The chief salaamed and ordered his wife to bring the holy man rice and milk.

“Thou art an honest man?” said Umballa.

“It is said,” replied the chief gravely.

“Thou art poor?”