“And how came you to know of the Vale of Tcha?” was the next question.
“My father, the great Tcheltzada Atkayma, told me.”
The members of the Tribunal exchanged glances of intelligence.
“Did he ask you to keep the information secret, to use it only to prevent your people from coming too near to the mountain of Aota?”
“He did,” said Chaka. “But I related the story to my brother Paul, whom I love as myself. When he became eager to visit your city I offered to guide him.”
The graybeards nodded. They felt they were now getting the plain, unvarnished truth.
“Did you not realize the penalty of your act; the fate sure to overtake you if you succeeded in coming among the people of Tcha?”
Allerton had recovered his wits by now, and strove to shield his friend.
“He did, your Highness, and warned my comrades and me. But we paid little heed to his protests. Why should we be unwelcome in Tcha? We come not as enemies but as friends. We are few in numbers; the Tcha are thousands. In no other country of the great wide world are peaceful strangers forbidden the hospitality of the people.”
I thought this was a hard hit, and a corking good argument; but the three bald heads did not seem impressed by it. One of them replied: