Hans whispered a word over his shoulder, and next moment a tall man wrapped from head to foot in white cloth, so that he looked like a ghost, came or rather shot into the hut and closed the door behind him.

“Who are you?” I asked.

By way of answer he lifted or unwrapped the cloth from about his face, and I saw that the Kalubi himself stood before us.

“I wish to speak alone with the white lord, Dogeetah,” he said in a hoarse voice, “and it must be now, since afterwards it will be impossible.”

Brother John rose and looked at him.

“How are you, Kalubi, my friend?” he asked.  “I see that your wound has healed well.”

“Yes, yes, but I would speak with you alone.”

“Not so,” replied Brother John.  “If you have anything to say, you must say it to all of us, or leave it unsaid, since these lords and I are one, and that which I hear, they hear.”

“Can I trust them?” muttered the Kalubi.

“As you can trust me.  Therefore speak, or go.  Yet, first, can we be overheard in this hut?”

“No, Dogeetah.  The walls are thick.  There is no one on the roof, for I have looked all round, and if any strove to climb there, we should hear.  Also your men who watch the door would see him.  None can hear us save perhaps the gods.”

“Then we will risk the gods, Kalubi.  Go on; my brothers know your story.”

“My lords,” he began, rolling his eyes about him like a hunted creature, “I am in a terrible pass.  Once, since I saw you, Dogeetah, I should have visited the White God that dwells in the forest on the mountain yonder, to scatter the sacred seed.  But I feigned to be sick, and Komba, the Kalubi-to-be, ‘who has passed the god,’ went in my place and returned unharmed.  Now to-morrow, the night of the full moon, as Kalubi, I must visit the god again and once more scatter the seed and—­Dogeetah, he will kill me whom he has once bitten.  He will certainly kill me unless I can kill him.  Then Komba will rule as Kalubi in my stead, and he will kill you in a way you can guess, by the ‘Hot death,’ as a sacrifice to the gods, that the women of the Pongo may once more become the mothers of many children.  Yes, yes, unless we can kill the god who dwells in the forest, we all must die,” and he paused, trembling, while the sweat dropped from him to the floor.

“That’s pleasant,” said Brother John, “but supposing that we kill the god how would that help us or you to escape from the Motombo and these murdering people of yours?  Surely they would slay us for the sacrilege.”

“Not so, Dogeetah.  If the god dies, the Motombo dies.  It is known from of old, and therefore the Motombo watches over the god as a mother over her child.  Then, until a new god is found, the Mother of the Holy Flower rules, she who is merciful and will harm none, and I rule under her and will certainly put my enemies to death, especially that wizard Komba.”