"Nothing!" repeated Sanders incredulously.
"Lord, Bosambo gives his magic freely, saying he has made a vow to strange gods to do this; and because it is free, many men go to his dance for purification. The lord Kambara, the Silent One, he himself passed at sunrise to-day."
Sanders smiled to himself. Kambara would have an interest in stray confessions of guilt——
That was it! The meaning of Bosambo's practice came to him in a flash. The painting of hands—the lure of purification; Bosambo was waiting for the man with the scarred hand.
Sanders continued his journey, tied up five miles short of the Ochori city, and went on foot through the forest to the place of meeting.
It was dark by the time he had covered half the journey, but there was no need of compass to guide him, even had the path been more difficult to follow. Ahead was a dull red glow in the sky where Bosambo's fires burnt.
Four fires there were, set at the points of an imaginary square. In the centre a round circle of stones, and in the centre again three spears with red hafts.
Bosambo had evidently witnessed, or been participant in, an initiation ceremony of a Monrovian secret society.
Within the circle moved Bosambo, and without it, two or three deep, the moving figures of those who sought his merciful services.
Slowly he moved. In one hand a bright tin of Government paint, in the other a Government brush.