“I desire to stay here,” he ended.

“Which means that we must all stay, Ragnall, since Savage will not desert you.  Nor will Hans desert me although he thinks us mad.  He points out that I came to seek ivory and here about is ivory in plenty for the trouble of taking.”

“I might remain alone, Quatermain——­” he began, but I looked at him in such a way that he never finished the sentence.

Ultimately we came to a compromise.  Babemba, on behalf of the Mazitu, agreed to wait three more days.  If nothing happened during that period we on our part agreed to return with them to a stretch of well-watered bush about fifty miles behind us, which we knew swarmed with elephants, that by now were growing shy of approaching our oasis where there was so much noise and shooting.  There we would kill as much ivory as we could carry, an operation in which they were willing to assist for the fun of it, and then go back with them to Mazituland.

The three days went by and with every hour that passed my spirits rose, as did those of Savage and Hans, while Lord Ragnall became more and more depressed.  The third afternoon was devoted to a jubilant packing of loads, for in accordance with the terms of our bargain we were to start backwards on our spoor at dawn upon the morrow.  Most happily did I lay myself down to sleep in my little bough shelter that night, feeling that at last I was rid of an uncommonly awkward adventure.  If I thought that we could do any good by staying on, it would have been another matter.  But as I was certain that there was no earthly chance of our finding among the Kendah—­if ever we reached them—­the lady who had tumbled in the Nile in Egypt, well, I was glad that Providence had been so good as to make it impossible for us to commit suicide by thirst in a desert, or otherwise.  For, notwithstanding my former reasonings to the contrary, I was now convinced that this was what had happened to poor Ragnall’s wife.

That, however, was just what Providence had not done.  In the middle of the night, to be precise, at exactly two in the morning, I was awakened by Hans, who slept at the back of my shanty, into which he had crept through a hole in the faggots, exclaiming in a frightened voice,

“Open your eyes and look, Baas.  There are two spooks waiting to see you outside, Baas.”

Very cautiously I lifted myself a little and stared out into the moonlight.  There, seated about five paces from the open end of the hut were the “spooks” sure enough, two white-robed figures squatting silent and immovable on the ground.  At first I was frightened.  Then I bethought me of thieves and felt for my Colt pistol under the rug that served me as a pillow.  As I got hold of the handle, however, a deep voice said: 

“Is it your custom, O Macumazana, Watcher-by-Night, to receive guests with bullets?”

Now thought I to myself, who is there in the world who could see a man catch hold of the handle of a pistol in the recesses of a dark place and under a blanket at night, except the owner of that voice which I seemed to remember hearing in a certain drawing-room in England?