"Gone? What do you mean? Of course he's gone."
"Down the well," said Challis, almost in a whisper. "He was climbing up with a knife. I went for him, and he fell."
For a moment Royce was speechless with astonishment. Then he said:
"But I don't understand. Where did he come from? He didn't pass me. Are you sure it was Goruba?"
"Certain. It was horrible."
"Poor old chap! Look here, you're shaken. Rest a bit while I go down. Perhaps the fellow isn't much hurt."
He took the candle from Challis's hand and went carefully down by the staples to the bottom of the well. There, huddled in a pool of water, lay all that was left of the gigantic negro. He was quite dead. It was clear that in his descent he had struck the stone slab projecting into the well. His neck was broken.
Awed by this strange tragedy, puzzled at the presence of Goruba here, Royce climbed up again and rejoined his friend.
"The poor wretch is dead," he said. "What an extraordinary fatality! He must have been in the darkness below. But what could he have been doing there?"
Together they sat on the stone floor with the candle between them. For some time neither spoke.