ether for a trip up there, I suppose you mean to come too, don't
you? If not, the thing's off so far as I am concerned. You see, I am
reckoning on you to get us through the Mazitu and into Pongo-land by the
help of your friends."

"Certainly I mean to come. In fact, if you don't go, I shall start
alone. I intend to explore Pongo-land even if I never come out of it
again."

Once more I looked at him as I answered:

"You are ready to risk a great deal for a flower, John. Or are you
looking for more than a flower? If so, I hope you will tell me the
truth."

This I said as I was aware that Brother John had a foolish objection to
uttering, or even acting lies.

"Well, Allan, as you put it like that, the truth is that I heard
something more about the Pongo than I told you up country. It was after
I had operated on that Kalubi, or I would have tried to get in alone.
But this I could not do then as I have said."

"And what did you hear?"

"I heard that they had a white goddess as well as a white god."

"Well, what of it? A female gorilla, I suppose."

"Nothing, except that goddesses have always interested me. Good night."

"You are an odd old fish," I remarked after him, "and what is more you
have got something up your sleeve. Well, I'll have it down one day.
Meanwhile, I wonder whether the whole thing is a lie, no; not a lie, an
hallucination. It can't be--because of that orchid. No one can explain
away the orchid. A queer people, these Pongo, with their white god and
goddess and their Holy Flower. But after all Africa is a land of queer
people, and of queer gods too."

And now the story shifts away to England. (Don't be afraid, my
adventurous reader, if ever I have one, it is coming back to Africa
again in a very few pages.)

Mr. Charles Scroope and I left Durban a day or two after my last
conversation with Brother John. At Cape Town we caught the mail, a
wretched little boat you would think it now, which after a long and
wearisome journey at length landed us safe at Plymouth. Our companions
on that voyage were very dull. I have forgotten most of them, but one
lady I do remember. I imagine that she must have commenced life as a
barmaid, for she had the orthodox tow hair and blowsy appearance. At any
rate, she was the wife of a wine-merchant who had made a fortune at the
Cape. Unhappily, however, she had contracted too great a liking for her
husband's wares, and after dinner was apt to become talkative. For