"It is now nearly three moons since 'Mtatu, my most trustworthy chief, died; and since then five others have travelled along the same Dark Road," answered the king. "And now a seventh, 'Nkuni, lies sick in his hut with the same symptoms as the others. Three nights and two days has he thus lain." "And how long does the sickness usually last?" asked Dick, his professional instincts being at once aroused. "They usually die on the seventh day after the sickness declares itself," answered the king. "Good!" responded Dick. "Then your friend is in no immediate danger; and to-morrow, when we present ourselves before you with our gifts, I will see him, and it may be that I shall be able to save his life. Have you aught further to tell us?" "No," answered the king. "I have now told all. But I fear that all these things portend evil to me, and, perchance, the end of my reign and life. It is for this reason that I have visited you to-night in secret; for I hoped that if a conspiracy is growing up against me you might be able to name the conpirators to me. That is all the help I ask," he finished grimly. "Yes," answered Dick; "I have no doubt that if we could ascertain the identity of the conspirators--if any--you could be safely trusted to do the rest. Well, we will see what can be done to help you. Must you really go? Well, good night! Take care of yourself; or, in other words, _hamba gahli_." As the tall, dark figure of Lobelalatutu strode away down the slight slope, upon the summit of which the tent was pitched, and melted into the shadows, Grosvenor turned to his companion, who had now re-seated himself, and said: "It seems to me, friend Dick, that we have arrived upon the scene at the psychological moment--eh, what? If our friend Lobelalatutu's suspicions have any better foundation than his own imagination, it strikes me that we are on the eve of exciting times. What say you?"