‘I don’t understand,’ said Boville.
‘No, you don’t understand! They send me out the most infernal idiots’—and then Mr. Blank fell to swearing.
Boville saw the case was grave somehow. ‘Are they poisonous?’ he asked.
‘Poisonous be—etc. etc. That’s the Endua—the holiest of plants! You’ll wish they were poisonous before long! What a lot! You didn’t get ’em all to-day?’
‘I can destroy them. Only Georgius Rex the Krooman has been into the bush with me.’
‘You fool! D’you think you can hide this from the fetich? Put—put ’em in a sack, and tumble ’em into the river after dark! Oh Lord, here’s an awful business!’
Moving about the room restlessly as he talked, whilst Boville thrust the orchids into a bag, the agent opened a door which gave upon a platform called the verandah—in fact, the roof of the store. It overlooked the street. In an instant he ran back.
‘It’s all up’ he cried. ‘Oh Lord! Here’s the Vokhimen!’
Boville had heard this name, which belongs to an official of the Vo-dun, the fetich priesthood, whose duty it is to summon offenders. He went to see. The street was in an uproar. Two men clothed in black and white, with faces chalked, were beating Vo-drums furiously—but such din is too usual for notice. They stood at the door of a house—habitations in Whydah are not properly described as huts. All the neighbours surged round vociferous. Presently emerged a grotesque figure, rather clothed than adorned with strings of human teeth and bones, and little wooden idols painted red. His black and white cap had lappets with red snakes sewn thereon; the breast of his tunic bore a large red cross, the sacred symbol of Dahomey. He came forth with a leap, and danced along with ridiculous gestures to the next house, flourishing the iron bar which marks his office. The bones and images rattled like castanets. The drummers followed. Through the next doorway the Vokhimen sprang, and disappeared.
‘He isn’t after me, thank God!’ cried Boville.