Zu Pfeiffer smoked reflectively.
“When did the last agent come in?”
“But yesterday, Excellence.”
“And no report of any other white men in the country? No British missionaries or traders?”
“Nein, Excellence.”
“Where is Saunders?”
“On Lake Kivu.”
“No report?”
“Not since the last three months ago, Excellence.”
“Umph!—Now, pay attention.” Schultz leaned forward dutifully. Zu Pfeiffer unrolled a map on the wall beside him. “Here’s Ingonya. The Wongolo country is twenty days’ march from here, but across the lake it’s twenty hours with the launch, and five days from there.” The delicate finger-nail indicated a spot on the opposite side of the lake. “From here—what’s the place? Ach—Timballa. To hell with the British boundary! We must not give them time to get the news. Always rush the seat of government. Surprise them and they’re done.”