“Then I have been misinformed, and the spirits are neither so wise nor so powerful as I thought them to be,” retorted the king.
“Perhaps so,” quietly remarked the professor. “Nevertheless we are very powerful—sufficiently so to destroy you and your whole army in a moment, should we choose to do so. Would you like to witness a specimen or two of our power?”
M’Bongwele glanced somewhat nervously about him for a second or two, and then with an obvious effort answered:
“Yes.”
“I see that some of your followers here are armed with bows,” continued the professor. “Are they good marksmen?”
“The best in the world,” answered the king proudly.
The professor in his turn hesitated an instant; he was about to make a dangerous experiment. Then he drew from his pocket a small crimson silk rosette, and, placing it in M’Bongwele’s hand, said:
“I will attach this to any part of my dress you choose to point out; then order one of your archers to shoot an arrow at it, and observe the result.”
The king took the rosette in his hand, examined it carefully, and passed it round among his suite for inspection. On receiving it back he suddenly wheeled round in his chair, and, reaching over, laid his finger on Lethbridge’s breast exactly over the heart.
“Fasten it there,” he said with a scornful smile, “and I will shoot at it myself.”