“Allan,” said Brother John to me in a low voice as we lit our pipes, “that man who stood with his back to us in front of the gridiron was the Kalubi.  Against the firelight I saw the gap in his hand where I cut away the finger.”

“Well, if we want to get any further, you must cultivate him,” I answered.  “But the question is, shall we get further than—­that grid?  I believe we have been trapped here to be eaten.”

Before Brother John could reply, Komba arrived, and after inquiring whether our appetites had been good, intimated that the Kalubi and head men were ready to receive us.  So off we went with the exception of Jerry, whom we left to watch our things, taking with us the presents we had prepared.

Komba led us to the feast-house, where the fire in the pit was out, or had been covered over, and the grid and its horrible burden had disappeared.  Also now all the mats were rolled up, so that the clear moonlight flowed into and illuminated the place.  Seated in a semicircle on wooden stools with their faces towards the gateway were the Kalubi, who occupied the centre, and eight councillors, all of them grey-haired men.  This Kalubi was a tall, thin individual of middle age with, I think, the most nervous countenance that I ever saw.  His features twitched continually and his hands were never still.  The eyes, too, as far as I could see them in that light, were full of terrors.

He rose and bowed, but the councillors remained seated, greeting us with a long-continued and soft clapping of the hands, which, it seemed, was the Pongo method of salute.

We bowed in answer, then seated ourselves on three stools that had been placed for us, Brother John occupying the middle stool.  Mavovo and Hans stood behind us, the latter supporting himself with his large bamboo stick.  As soon as these preliminaries were over the Kalubi called upon Komba, whom he addressed in formal language as “You-who-have-passed-the-god,” and “You-the-Kalubi-to-be” (I thought I saw him wince as he said these words), to give an account of his mission and of how it came about that they had the honour of seeing the white lords there.

Komba obeyed.  After addressing the Kalubi with every possible title of honour, such as “Absolute Monarch,” “Master whose feet I kiss,” “He whose eyes are fire and whose tongue is a sword,” “He at whose nod people die,” “Lord of the Sacrifice, first Taster of the Sacred meat,” “Beloved of the gods” (here the Kalubi shrank as though he had been pricked with a spear), “Second to none on earth save the Motombo the most holy, the most ancient, who comes from heaven and speaks with the voice of heaven,” etc., etc., he gave a clear but brief account of all that had happened in the course of his mission to Beza Town.