The other murmured a word of acknowledgment, and did as he was told. Then, from the packet of his jacket—which bulged—he drew forth a bundle. This he proceeded to undo, revealing many fragments of baked clay, in short the fragments of a black drinking bowl.
“Here is what I promised my father,” he said, addressing the witch-doctor. “Whau! I put another in its place, and now I think the Dokotela will believe that Ntwezi is laughing at him.”
“Yet it were better to have brought it whole,” said Nteseni.
“That could I not do,” answered the visitor, who was no other than Elvesdon’s native detective, Teliso. “The shape would have betrayed it.”
“M-m!” hummed the listeners.
Now Nteseni took the fragments and with extraordinary ingenuity and patience began piecing them together. As to the latter—well they had the whole night before them!
“There is not a piece missing,” he pronounced, “no, not even a small piece. To have left such would have been dangerous.”
“Would it not, my father? But I desire the ruin of Ntwezi. He has reduced my pay, and I would be revenged. Further, he has promised to thrash me. I will not go back to him.”
“No, thou wilt not,” returned Nteseni, heavily. “I think thy place is better here among thine own people.”
“Eh hé! That is true, my father. Among my own people.”