“Yessack,”[[7]] said Freeland, laughing. “We told the Interpreter you never eat anything rich before a séance, so he took it. Besides, you told me to stuff him up——”
When the necessary posh had subsided, Freeland let me know what yarn he had told Moïse. It appeared that some years ago I had been taken prisoner by the Head-hunters. They tortured me—my body bore scars in witness of it—but I was saved from death by the Witch Doctor, who recognized in me a brother craftsman. In exchange for my knowledge he taught me his. Then he died, and I became Chief of the Tribe by reason of my magic powers. In due course I left the Waas and returned to civilization with my pockets full of Burmese rubies, and my head full of the Magic of the East.
“You piled it on a bit thick, Freak,” said I.
“Oh, I went further than that,” he laughed. “I told him Townshend used to employ you to read the minds of the Turkish generals, which explains why none of the Turkish attacks on Kut came off!”
“Well, that’s torn it all right!” I exclaimed.
“Not a bit of it. It all went down—same as the cake. See here——”
He handed me a sheet of paper on which Moïse had written a list of questions.
“He wants these submitted to the Spirit at the next séance.”
I ran my eye down the page. No names were mentioned, but it was possible to read between the lines. There were some civilian ladies interned in another part of Yozgad.
“Why,” I said in astonishment, “the fellow’s given himself away! He is using his official position as jailor to pay court to those unhappy girls!”