“I am named ‘Blowing-Wind’ because I pass where I would, none seeing me come or go, and therefore am the best and swiftest of messengers. And this little one, this small but great-souled one with me”—here I pointed to the smirking Hans, who by now was quite alive to the humours of the situation and to its advantages from our point of view—“is named ‘Lord-of-the-Fire’ and ‘Light-in-Darkness’” (this was true enough and worked in very well) “because it is he who is guardian of the magic fire” (also true, for he had half a dozen spare boxes in his pockets that he had stolen at one time or another) “of which, if he is offended, he can make enough to burn up all this island and everyone thereon; yes, more than is hidden in the womb of that mountain.” “Can he, by Heu-Heu!” said Dacha, regarding Hans with great respect. “Certainly he can. Mighty though I be, I must be careful not to anger him lest myself I should be burnt to cinders.” At this moment a doubt seemed to strike Dacha, for he asked: “Tell me, O Blowing-Wind and O Lord-of-Fire, how you came to this island? We observed a canoe manned with some of our rebellious subjects who serve that old usurper the Walloo, which is being hunted that they may be killed for their sacrilege in approaching this holy place. Were you perchance in that canoe?” “We were,” I answered boldly. “When we arrived at yonder town I met a lady, a very beautiful lady, named Sabeela, and asked her where dwelt the great Dacha. She said here—more, that she knew you and that you were the most beautiful and noblest of men, as well as the wisest. She said also that with some of her servants, including a stupid fellow called Issicore, of whom she never can be rid wherever she goes, she herself would paddle us to the island on the chance of seeing your face again.” (I may explain to you fellows that this lie was perfectly safe, as I knew Issicore and his people had escaped.) “So she brought us here and landed us that we might look at the ruined city before coming on to see you. But then your people roughly hunted her away, so that we were obliged to walk to your town. That is all.” Now Dacha became agitated. “I pray Heu-Heu,” he said, “that those fools may not have caught and killed her with the others.” “I pray so also, since she is too fair to die,” I answered, “who would be a lovely wife for any man. But stay, I will tell you what has chanced. Lord-of-the-Fire, make fire.” Hans produced a match and lit it on the seat of his trousers, which was the only part of him that was not damp. He held it in his joined hands and I stared at the flame, muttering. Then he whispered: “Be quick, Baas, it is burning my fingers!” “All is well,” I said solemnly. “The canoe with Sabeela the Beautiful escaped your people, since other canoes, seven—no, eight of them,” I corrected, studying the ashes of the match, also the blister on Hans’s finger, “came out from the town and drove yours away just as they were overtaking the Lady Sabeela.”