“Well, get Fullerton to take, or send, you and your sister into Buluwayo without further delay.”
Now Clare wondered indeed.
“Why?” she said simply.
“Yes, that’s a fair question. But if I explain, will you undertake not to get panic-stricken, and also to leave events to me—in short, not to give away what I may tell you, no, not even to your sister.”
“Why, of course. But—you don’t mean to say these savages are meditating a war—on us?”
“Yes I do. And not only that, but the whole thing is cut and dried, and it’s only a question when to begin. Now I shall be able to answer your other question. You thought me no end boorish and ungracious yesterday. Well, the reason why I stuck to old Qubani like a brother, instead of being of service to you, was that, if I had not, the whole of Gandela would at this moment be a heap of ashes, and the race-course piled with the bodies of every man, woman, and child in the place.”
“Good Heavens! You don’t mean that?” ejaculated Clare, staring at him.
“Certainly I do. There was an impi stationed here—up here where we are sitting, and at a signal from Qubani it was to rush the whole show. And then—”
“What was the signal?”
“He was to throw up the red cap he was wearing. It was to be done during the prize-giving, so as to be less noticeable.”