“I turned and saw him standing in the doorway, his hand on the mud wall for support, his eyes peering at me from his bowed head. If I had been momentarily suspicious of a knowledge hitherto kept from me, all fled at the sight of him. He was transparently honest and eager. ‘What is it, white man?’ he quavered.
“‘Mwezi,’ said I, ‘here is a strange thing and a wonder. You tell me that you saw in your vision a white man, and I know from what you say that he was a priest. You travelled far, and your spirit sent you here. Well, I do not doubt that this house of yours was once a place of worship, and I think it was built by white priests. Think now, have you heard of no such thing?’
“He swayed a little as he stood, and did not answer at once. Then he slowly shook his head. ‘I have heard nothing, nothing,’ he said. ‘If it be so, none know of these things, white man. Art thou sure? Thou wouldst not mock me again.’
“‘Mwezi,’ I cried eagerly, ‘I do not mock you. Why should I do any such thing? I cannot yet tell certainly, but this place is such as we build for prayers, and we may yet make sure. May I search more diligently?’
“‘Do what thou wilt, my son,’ said he, ‘and if my hands cannot, my spirit will help thee.’
“There and then I began a close scrutiny. I went outside, measured, tapped, sought, but I found nothing more. If there had ever been a stoup, a cross, a rude piscina, they had long since gone. But the more I searched, the more sure grew my conviction that the place had been a chapel. At last I sat down to rest, and while resting, I had an idea.
“‘Mwezi,’ I said, ‘have you ever dug up the floor?’
“He shook his head. ‘Why should I dig it up?’ he asked.
“‘Would you allow me to do so?’ I queried.
“He looked doubtful. ‘But why?’ he asked again, suspiciously. ‘And would you dig even now?’