“It’s not a blind search. I think I know where he is,” Lys whispered. “But you should not go there. The tribesmen wouldn’t like it!”
Farris instantly understood. “That big grove up on top of the plateau, where we found the hunati natives?”
Her unhappy silence was answer enough. “Go back to the bungalow,” he told her. “I’ll find him.”
She would not do that. Farris shrugged, and started forward. “Then we’ll go together.”
She hesitated, then came on. They went up the slope of the plateau, through the forest.
The westering sun sent spears and arrows of burning gold through chinks in the vast canopy of foliage under which they walked. The solid green of the forest breathed a rank, hot exhalation. Even the birds and monkeys were stifledly quiet at this hour.
“Is Berreau mixed up in that queer hunati rite?” Farris asked.
Lys looked up as though to utter a quick denial, but then dropped her eyes.
“Yes, in a way. His passion for botany got him interested in it. Now he’s involved.”
Farris was puzzled. “Why should botanical interest draw a man to that crazy drug-rite or whatever it is?”