The king threw a single keen glance at the dead man, grunted inarticulately, and was silent.
“Listen, M’Bongwele!” said von Schalckenberg. “How is it that, having banished you for your former evil deeds, we find you here again upon our return?”
“I was unhappy away from my people, and therefore I returned,” answered the king, sullenly.
“And, having returned, your first act was to slay Seketulo. Is it not so?” demanded the professor.
“Why should I not slay him?” retorted M’Bongwele. “The Makolo need not two kings; and Seketulo knew not how to govern them.”
“Therefore you slew him?” persisted the professor.
“Therefore I slew him,” assented M’Bongwele.
“Also you slew twelve white men and two white women who were found in distress by your people, although you knew that such acts were displeasing to us, and that we had forbidden them,” asserted the professor.
“Nay,” said M’Bongwele; “I slew but the twelve white men. Of the two women, the elder slew the younger, and then slew herself. But what matters it how they died? Am not I the king; and may I not do as I will in mine own country?”
“And how died the white men?” demanded von Schalckenberg.