“Yes,” answered Dick; “I have no doubt that if we could ascertain the identity of the conspirators—if any—you could be safely trusted to do the rest. Well, we will see what can be done to help you. Must you really go? Well, good night! Take care of yourself; or, in other words, hamba gahli.”
As the tall, dark figure of Lobelalatutu strode away down the slight slope, upon the summit of which the tent was pitched, and melted into the shadows, Grosvenor turned to his companion, who had now re-seated himself, and said:
“It seems to me, friend Dick, that we have arrived upon the scene at the psychological moment—eh, what? If our friend Lobelalatutu’s suspicions have any better foundation than his own imagination, it strikes me that we are on the eve of exciting times. What say you?”
“I say yes to that, most emphatically,” responded Dick. “For, don’t make any mistake, Phil, the king’s imagination is not running away with him; the death of six chiefs in quick succession, followed by the serious illness of a seventh, is something more than mere coincidence; it means conspiracy, followed by ghastly, blood-curdling tragedy—unless we can contrive by some means to discover the identity of the conspirators in time. As for those unfortunate chiefs, I have not the slightest doubt that they have been removed by poison—some secret and comparatively slow but deadly poison, and I intend to make it my first business to discover what that poison is, and its antidote—if I can. The chances are, however, that I shall fail, for almost all the savage peoples possess a great deal more knowledge of drugs, and especially of poisons, than we civilised folk are aware of, or are inclined to credit them with; and if poison is really being employed, it will almost certainly be something of which I have no knowledge. Still, we shall see. And you may be sure that I shall use my very best efforts to succeed, and also to discover the details of the conspiracy which Lobelalatutu suspects; for, should it succeed, we shall find ourselves in an exceedingly awkward predicament.”
“Why—how do you mean?” demanded Grosvenor.
“How do I mean?” repeated Dick. “Why, in a few words, I mean this, that so long as Lobelalatutu lives and continues to govern this people we are reasonably safe. But if he should happen to be deposed, and murdered, the new king will most probably sacrifice us both to his fetish as a sort of thank-offering for his success. Twig?”
“Of course I do,” answered Grosvenor. “I had never thought of that; but it seems likely enough, now that you come to mention it. It appears to me that our first business must be to straighten out matters, for our own sakes as well as for that of Lobelalatutu. Poor chap! Here is he, a despot, with absolute power over the life of every one of his subjects; you would naturally suppose that such a man would have nothing to fear, wouldn’t you? Yet, like other monarchs, he seems liable at any moment to become the victim of secret intrigue, and lose his crown and his life together. I thought the poor chap looked worried when we called upon him to-day. The Bard was right—‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’, be the head that of a civilised monarch or a savage.”
“True for you, my boy,” answered Dick. “But are you not beginning to feel tired? Because, if you are, pray don’t stand on ceremony, but turn in as soon as you like. As for me, I think I will sit up a bit longer and see if I cannot think this matter out and find a streak of daylight somewhere.”
“Which, I suppose, is a hint that you don’t need my company any longer,” retorted Grosvenor. “All right, old chap, pray don’t apologise. I know I’m a bit of a duffer in such matters as this, so I’ll leave you to thresh it out alone, and turn in for a good night’s sleep—eh, what?”
Left to himself, Dick Maitland sat far into the night, considering the situation unfolded to him by the king; and at length an inspiration came to him, by following which he thought it possible that he might be able to clear up the mystery connected with the deaths of Lobelalatutu’s most trusted chiefs, and perhaps discover whether or not there really existed a conspiracy to overthrow that monarch and restore the barbarous practices that had made the rule of the last king literally a reign of terror. Then he turned into his hammock and slept soundly until Mafuta aroused him at sunrise with the early cup of chocolate which was the invariable prelude to the business of the day.