r. Would these white wizards poison me with _mwavi_?"

Here I should explain that _mwavi_ or _mkasa_, as it is sometimes
called, is the liquor distilled from the inner bark of a sort of
mimosa tree or sometimes from a root of the strychnos tribe, which is
administered by the witch-doctors to persons accused of crime. If it
makes them sick they are declared innocent. If they are thrown into
convulsions or stupor they are clearly guilty and die, either from the
effects of the poison or afterwards by other means.

"This is no _mwavi_, O Babemba," said Jerry. "It is the divine liquor
that makes the white lords shoot straight with their wonderful guns
which kill at a thousand paces. See, I will swallow some of it," and he
did, though it must have burnt his tongue.

Thus encouraged, old Babemba sniffed at the coffee and found it
fragrant. Then he called a man, who from his peculiar dress I took to be
a doctor, made him drink some, and watched the results, which were that
the doctor tried to finish the pannikin. Snatching it away indignantly
Babemba drank himself, and as I had half-filled the cup with sugar,
found the mixture good.

"It is indeed a holy drink," he said, smacking his lips. "Have you any
more of it?"

"The white lords have more," said Jerry. "They invite you to eat with
them."

Babemba stuck his finger into the tin, and covering it with the sediment
of sugar, sucked and reflected.

"It's all right," I whispered to Stephen. "I don't think he'll kill us
after drinking our coffee, and what's more, I believe he is coming to
breakfast."

"This may be a snare," said Babemba, who now began to lick the sugar out
of the pannikin.

"No," answered Jerry with creditable resource; "though they could easily
kill you all, the white lords do not hurt those who have partaken of
their holy drink, that is unless anyone tries to harm them."

"Cannot you bring some more of the holy drink here?" he asked, giving a
final polish to the pannikin with his tongue.

"No," said Jerry, "if you want it you must go there. Fear nothing. Would
I, one of your own people, betray you?"

"True!" exclaimed Babemba. "By your talk and your face you are a Mazitu.
How came you--well, we will speak of that afterwards. I am very thirsty.
I will come. Soldiers, sit down and watch, and if any harm happens to
me, avenge it and report to the king."

Now, while all this was going on, I had made Hans and Sammy open one of
the boxes and extract t