In confusion, not knowing what degree of proficiency in English to assume, I gave some answer in a lame speech, the inconsistency of which he might have detected had he been less absorbed.
“What is the king’s plan?” he asked.
“He wants to know yours first,” I answered.
I was prepared for his quick, half-suspicious look. “He knows what I want,” was the sharp return.
“The other native didn’t know. He couldn’t tell the king very well.”
“This is my plan,” went on Mr. Vancouver: “I make some good, strong men think that Captain Mason does nothing, but sits down and waits for us all to be killed. This is secret. A fellow named Hobart is my leader. The young men are ready to go with him out of the valley. The king will tell the guard to seize them and take them to the palace. That will get rid of the best fighters in the colony.”
“What will the young men think they go for?” I inquired.
“What difference does that make,” he testily demanded, “so long as they are out of the way?”
“The king must know.” I was solid and firm.
“I’ll make them think they can pass the guard; then they’ll find a way for the colony to escape, and will come back and tell me.”