“Hear, hear!” said Stephen, taking off his coat and placing it doubled up on the bed to serve as a pillow. “I say,” he added, “stand clear a minute while I shake this blanket. It’s covered with bits of something,” and he suited the action to the word.
“Bits of something?” I said suspiciously. “Why didn’t you wait a minute to let me see them. I didn’t notice any bits before.”
“Rats running about the roof, I expect,” said Stephen carelessly.
Not being satisfied, I began to examine this roof and the clay walls, which I forgot to mention were painted over in a kind of pattern with whorls in it, by the feeble light of the primitive lamps. While I was thus engaged there was a knock on the door. Forgetting all about the dust, I opened it and Hans appeared.
“One of these man-eating devils wants to speak to you, Baas. Mavovo keeps him without.”
“Let him in,” I said, since in this place fearlessness seemed our best game, “but watch well while he is with us.”
Hans whispered a word over his shoulder, and next moment a tall man wrapped from head to foot in white cloth, so that he looked like a ghost, came or rather shot into the hut and closed the door behind him.
“Who are you?” I asked.
By way of answer he lifted or unwrapped the cloth from about his face, and I saw that the Kalubi himself stood before us.
“I wish to speak alone with the white lord, Dogeetah,” he said in a hoarse voice, “and it must be now, since afterwards it will be impossible.”