After this the Kalubi took a little stick and broke it, to intimate that the conference was at an end, and having bade him and his councillors good night we retired to our huts.

I should add, because it has a bearing on subsequent events, that on this occasion we were escorted, not by Komba, but by two of the councillors.  Komba, as I noted for the first time when we rose to say good-bye, was no longer present at the council.  When he left it I cannot say, since it will be remembered that his seat was behind us in the shadow, and none of us saw him go.

“What do you make of all that?” I asked the others when the door was shut.

Brother John merely shook his head and said nothing, for in those days he seemed to be living in a kind of dreamland.

Stephen answered.  “Bosh!  Tommy rot!  All my eye and my elbow!  Those man-eating Johnnies have some game up their wide sleeves, and whatever it may be, it isn’t peace with the Mazitu.”

“I agree,” I said.  “If the real object were peace they would have haggled more, stood out for better terms, or hostages, or something.  Also they would have got the consent of this Motombo beforehand.  Clearly he is the master of the situation, not the Kalubi, who is only his tool; if business were meant he should have spoken first, always supposing that he exists and isn’t a myth.  However, if we live we shall learn, and if we don’t, it doesn’t matter, though personally I think we should be wise to leave Motombo alone and to clear out to Mazitu-land by the first canoe to-morrow morning.”

“I intend to visit this Motombo,” broke in Brother John with decision.

“Ditto, ditto,” exclaimed Stephen, “but it’s no use arguing that all over again.”

“No,” I replied with irritation.  “It is, as you remark, of no use arguing with lunatics.  So let’s go to bed, and as it will probably be our last, have a good night’s sleep.”

“Hear, hear!” said Stephen, taking off his coat and placing it doubled up on the bed to serve as a pillow.  “I say,” he added, “stand clear a minute while I shake this blanket.  It’s covered with bits of something,” and he suited the action to the word.

“Bits of something?” I said suspiciously.  “Why didn’t you wait a minute to let me see them.  I didn’t notice any bits before.”

“Rats running about the roof, I expect,” said Stephen carelessly.

Not being satisfied, I began to examine this roof and the clay walls, which I forgot to mention were painted over in a kind of pattern with whorls in it, by the feeble light of the primitive lamps.  While I was thus engaged there was a knock on the door.  Forgetting all about the dust, I opened it and Hans appeared.

“One of these man-eating devils wants to speak to you, Baas.  Mavovo keeps him without.”

“Let him in,” I said, since in this place fearlessness seemed our best game, “but watch well while he is with us.”