upon the floor of thy house, will be far away.
And when the captain of the fighting-ship questioneth, and sayeth to the
people, 'Where is my countryman?' the people will shake their heads and
say, 'We know not. He and his wife, and the Englishman, and Tepi, and
Tematau, and the witch woman Niabon have gone. They have sailed away to
beyond the rim of the sea and the sky--we know not whither."

I listened with all my faculties wide awake, and yet with a strange
sense of helplessness overpowering me. Then Niabon made a swift gesture
to the head men. They rose, and lifting the huge body of Krause, carried
it away.

She came to me and pressed her hand on my forehead.

"You are tired," she said in English. "Lie down."

She took my hand and led me to my couch beside the window and then bent
over me.

"Sleep, sleep long. For now the time is near and thou must have
strength."

CHAPTER IV

I slept well on towards four o'clock in the afternoon, and when I
awakened I found the house deserted by all but my man Tepi, who was
seated cross-legged near me with a cup containing my fever mixture
beside him. He held it up to me silently.

Even before I raised myself to drink I felt that I was a stronger man,
physically and mentally, than I had been six hours previously, and my
veins no longer seemed as if they were filled with liquid fire. I drank
the mixture and then looked about me, and saw that every ensanguined
trace of the tragedy which had occurred a few hours before had been
removed. The coarse and somewhat worn matting which had covered the
floor had been taken away and replaced by new squares, and the room
presented the usual neat and orderly appearance in which it was always
kept by Tepi and my other servant.

"Master," said Tepi, "art hungry?"

"Aye," I replied, "I would eat; but first tell me of the dead man. Who
hath taken him away?"

The man, instead of answering me in a straightforward manner, bent his
head and muttered something I could not hear.

I jumped off my couch and went outside, and the first person I ran
against was my cook, an old grizzled fellow of about sixty years of age
named Pai. He was carrying a freshly-killed fowl in his hand, looked
at me in an unconcerned manner as if nothing had occurred, and asked me
would I have it broiled or boiled.

"As you will," I said impatiently. "Tell me, Pai, whither have they
taken the dead white man?"

He made a peculiar and significant gesture--one