For such these were, they declared. All the insects and herbs they were collecting--what was all this for but for purposes of witchcraft? Only that morning they had captured a huge scorpion, and had been found distilling evil _muti_ from its venomous carcase. With this they had enabled their enemy to escape them. With this they had even bewitched the Great Great One himself. Death to the wizards! Let them take the Arab's place! Haviland's shirt was rent from his back, revealing a curious jagged scar, running from the left shoulder halfway to the elbow. "Hold!" roared the King. All eyes were raised, so startling was the tone. The Great Great One was indeed bewitched, was the one thought in the minds of the now silent multitude. And, indeed, there seemed some colour for the idea. Umnovunovu had half risen from his seat, and, both hands gripping the arms of the throne, he was staring wildly at the unfortunate prisoner. "Loose him!" he cried. Then, in excellent English, "Come here, Haviland. I know you now." In after times Haviland used to say that he had met with some wild surprises in the course of a somewhat adventurous career, but none wilder, madder, more utterly dumb-striking than when the King of the Inswani broke out into good English, hailing him by name. He started, stared, rubbed his eyes, gasped--then stared again. "Great Scott! Am I drunk or dreaming?" broke from him at last. "Why, it can't be--. But it is--Cetchy--Anthony--Mpukuza?" But with the last name a mighty groan broke forth from all who heard, then another and another. Even in the whirl of his amazement and relief, Haviland recognised that he had blundered terribly. He had actually named the King by his veiled name, and that in the presence of the whole nation. "Not Mpukuza now, but Umnovunovu. The Stump has spread into the Fire-striking Tree," said the King in a loud voice, speaking in Zulu. Then, dropping into English again: "I have never forgotten you, Haviland, although you have forgotten me. When your friend there called you Haviland, I made him repeat it, so as to make sure. Then I remembered that bad scratch you gave yourself one day at Saint Kirwin's, when we were scrambling through a wire fence. I knew the scar would be there still, so I arranged to make sure of that too." No wonder his people deemed Umnovunovu bewitched. Here he was, talking easily, fluently, in the tongue of these strangers; nor was that all, for his very countenance had changed, and the hardened savagery of the ferocious despot had given way to an expression that was bright and pleasing. "No fear. I didn't forget you, Cetchy," answered Haviland, unconsciously reverting to the old nickname, which, however, didn't matter, being English. "Why I was quite a long while in the Zulu country, and inquired for you everywhere. Ask Kumbelwa if I didn't. I wanted no end to run against you again."