He stood looking down upon the water for a moment; he needed to lose no time in undressing, for save for his mútya he was unclad. Now he picked up two large stones and holding one in each hand, he poised himself at a point about ten feet above the surface. Then he dived.
Down he went—straight down—and the water closed over him. We stood staring at the widening circles, but could see nothing beneath the surface. Then it suddenly dawned upon us that he had been under water an abnormally long time.
“He’ll never come up again now,” declared Falkner. “No man living could stick under water all that time,” he went on after a wait that seemed like an hour to us. “The beast has either got hold of him, or he’s got stuck somehow and drowned. Oh good Lord!”
For a black head shot up on the further side of the hole, and a couple of strokes bringing it and its owner to the brink, he proceeded calmly to climb out, showing no sign of any undue strain upon his powers of endurance.
“Thou art indeed well named, Ivondwe,” I said. “We thought the snake had got thee.”
“Snake? I saw no snake,” he answered. “But I will go down again. There is still one part which I left unsearched.”
He sat for a moment, then picked up two stones as before. He walked round to an even higher point above the water, and this time dived obliquely.
“By Jove, he must have come to grief now,” said Falkner. “Why he’s been a much longer time down.”
As we waited and still Ivondwe did not reappear, the rest of us began to think that Falkner was right. It seemed incredible that any man could remain under so long unless artificially supplied with air. Then just as we had given him up Ivondwe rose to the surface as before.
This time he was panting somewhat, as well he might. “There is no one down there,” he began, as soon as he had recovered breath.