As we floated out of the mouth of the cave the toad-like Motombo, who had wheeled round upon his stool, shouted an order to Komba.

“O Kalubi,” he said, “set the Kalubi-who-was and the three white men and their three servants on the borders of the forest that is named House-of-the-god and leave them there.  Then return and depart, for here I would watch alone.  When all is finished I will summon you.”

Komba bowed his handsome head and at a sign two of the men got out paddles, for more were not needed, and with slow and gentle strokes rowed us across the water.  The first thing I noted about this water at the time was that its blackness was inky, owing, I suppose, to its depth and the shadows of the towering cliff on one side and of the tall trees on the other.  Also I observed—­for in this emergency, or perhaps because of it, I managed to keep my wits about me—­that its banks on either side were the home of great numbers of crocodiles which lay there like logs.  I saw, further, that a little lower down where the water seemed to narrow, jagged boughs projected from its surface as though great trees had fallen, or been thrown into it.  I recalled in a numb sort of way that old Babemba had told us that when he was a boy he had escaped in a canoe down this estuary, and reflected that it would not be possible for him to do so now because of those snags.  Unless, indeed, he had floated over them in a time of great flood.

A couple of minutes or so of paddling brought us to the further shore which, as I think I have said, was only about two hundred yards from the mouth of the cave.  The bow of the canoe grated on the bank, disturbing a huge crocodile that vanished into the depths with an angry plunge.

“Land, white lords, land,” said Komba with the utmost politeness, “and go, visit the god who doubtless is waiting for you.  And now, as we shall meet no more—­farewell.  You are wise and I am foolish, yet hearken to my counsel.  If ever you should return to the Earth again, be advised by me.  Cling to your own god if you have one, and do not meddle with those of other peoples.  Again farewell.”

The advice was excellent, but at that moment I felt a hate for Komba which was really superhuman.  To me even the Motombo seemed an angel of light as compared with him.  If wishes could have killed, our farewell would indeed have been complete.

Then, admonished by the spear points of the Pongo, we landed in the slimy mud.  Brother John went first with a smile upon his handsome countenance that I thought idiotic under the circumstances, though doubtless he knew best when he ought to smile, and the wretched Kalubi came last.  Indeed, so great was his shrinking from that ominous shore, that I believe he was ultimately propelled from the boat by his successor in power, Komba.  Once he had trodden it, however, a spark of spirit returned to him, for he wheeled round and said to Komba,