Elvesdon suddenly remembered the letter which had been given him; and now that the show was over he thought he might as well investigate it.
But the first glance at the scrawl which he unfolded made him start. This is how it ran:
“Mr Elvesdon, resident Magistrate.
“Sir,
“You are a good man. I not want to see you hurt. I not want to see Christian ladies hurt. I am Christian too. Get your party away so soon as you ever can.
“I not give my name—but—do.
“Remember Mr Hope.”
Chapter Twenty Three.
After the Warning.
Just as he had thought, decided Elvesdon. Clearly the letter was from some half—educated native, but how different its import to that which he had expected. Was it a hoax, he wondered? Anyway its substance was sufficiently disquieting. Surely so tried and trusted a chief as old Tongwana could not be guilty of any such ghastly act of treachery as that hinted at. His people, too, had paid up their taxes without a murmur. The thing looked like a hoax.
It might be well to be on the safe side; to get his party away at once. But then his official prestige and influence would be irretrievably wrecked. He would be showing distrust—fear—of those over whom he held authority. But the sting of the whole communication lay in the concluding words, “Remember Mr Hope.”
These referred to a tragedy, which had befallen a little over a quarter of a century back. The victim had been a magistrate in Pondoland, and had been treacherously set upon and murdered, together with his two clerks, while witnessing just such an entertainment as had been provided here to-day.