He slipped away from us before we could stop him, and while we were debating as to whether we had not better rush in and fight in his defence, the savages crowded into the hut, and once more there was a loud buzz of voices.
These were checked by one deeper, slower, and more stern than the others, which were silenced; and after a minute or two, we heard our friend the Englishman respond in a deprecating voice, and apparently plead for mercy.
Then the chief savage spoke again in stern tones, there was a buzz of voices once more, and the savages seemed to file out and cross the opening towards the other side of the village.
We dared not move, but remained there listening, not knowing but that a guard might have been left; but at the end of a minute or two our friend was back at our side, to say excitedly:
“I want to help you, but my head—I forget—I cannot speak sometimes—I cannot think. It is all dark here—here—in my mind. Why have you come?”
“We are friends,” said the doctor. “Where is Mr Carstairs?”
“Carstairs?—Mr Carstairs?” he said. “Ah—”
He began to speak volubly in the savage tongue now, tantalising me so that I grasped his arm, exclaiming fiercely:
“Speak English. Where is my father?”
I could hardly see his face, but there was light enough to tell that he turned towards me, and he stopped speaking, and seemed to be endeavouring to comprehend what I said.