As we were leaving the place, acting on my general principle of making sure of anything of value when I get the chance, I broke off that ripe seed-pod, which was of the size of an orange.  No one was looking at the time, and as it went straight into my pocket, no one missed it.

Then, leaving Stephen and the young lady to admire this Cypripedium—­ or each other—­in the enclosure, we three elders returned to the house to discuss matters.

“John and Mrs. Eversley,” I said, “by Heaven’s mercy you are reunited after a terrible separation of over twenty years.  But what is to be done now?  The god, it is true, is dead, and therefore the passage of the forest will be easy.  But beyond it is the water which we have no means of crossing and beyond the water that old wizard, the Motombo, sits in the mouth of his cave watching like a spider in its web.  And beyond the Motombo and his cave are Komba, the new Kalubi and his tribe of cannibals——­”

“Cannibals!” interrupted Mrs. Eversley, “I never knew that they were cannibals.  Indeed, I know little about the Pongo, whom I scarcely ever see.”

“Then, madam, you must take my word for it that they are; also, as I believe, that they have every expectation of eating us.  Now, as I presume that you do not wish to spend the rest of your lives, which would probably be short, upon this island, I want to ask how you propose to escape safely out of the Pongo country?”

They shook their heads, which were evidently empty of ideas.  Only John stroked his white beard, and inquired mildly: 

“What have you arranged, Allan?  My dear wife and I are quite willing to leave the matter to you, who are so resourceful.”

“Arranged!” I stuttered.  “Really, John, under any other circumstances——­” Then after a moment’s reflection I called to Hans and Mavovo, who came and squatted down upon the verandah.

“Now,” I said, after I had put the case to them, “what have you arranged?” Being devoid of any feasible suggestions, I wished to pass on that intolerable responsibility.

“My father makes a mock of us,” said Mavovo solemnly.  “Can a rat in a pit arrange how it is to get out with the dog that is waiting at the top?  So far we have come in safety, as the rat does into the pit.  Now I see nothing but death.”

“That’s cheerful,” I said.  “Your turn, Hans.”

“Oh!  Baas,” replied the Hottentot, “for a while I grew clever again when I thought of putting the gun Intombi into the bamboo.  But now my head is like a rotten egg, and when I try to shake wisdom out of it my brain melts and washes from side to side like the stuff in the rotten egg.  Yet, yet, I have a thought—­let us ask the Missie.  Her brain is young and not tired, it may hit on something:  to ask the Baas Stephen is no good, for already he is lost in other things,” and Hans grinned feebly.

More to give myself time than for any other reason I called to Miss Hope, who had just emerged from the sacred enclosure with Stephen, and put the riddle to her, speaking very slowly and clearly, so that she might understand me.  To my surprise she answered at once.