'We are of a race which delights in strange adventures,' he said. 'When our comrade unfolded this adventure to us we readily joined him, for we believed he was a man who would accomplish much.' This answer seemed to please Kalliboas greatly. 'You had faith in our King?' he queried. 'We had great faith, which was justified, for I do not think any other man in the world could have brought us over the mountains as he did. But now, Kalliboas, it is long since we saw him.' The old man drew back his head sharply. 'Surely,' went on Poyning with a little heat, 'we have some claim upon him? We risked our lives in coming here, when few men even of our race would have followed him on a journey so full of uncertainty and danger. Though he is your King, to us he is still our comrade, with whom we went through much, and whom we greatly love. He, surely, will not deny us an audience?' I don't know that the old man approved of Poyning's free words, but he seemed to relax a little at the evident sincerity with which they were spoken. 'Our own people, even our greatest, have audience with the King seldom,' he said, rising. 'Inquiry shall nevertheless be made.' When Kalliboas had gone, Poyning sat for a long time on the edge of a couch, drumming his fingers on his knees. I spoke to him once or twice, but he returned nothing but absent monosyllables, and I could see from the look on his face that his thoughts were neither clear nor pleasant. 'This will never do, Mirlees,' he burst out at last. 'What do you mean?' 'We must have a plan--present a united front. We were within an ace of disaster to-day. When he asked our reason for coming here, you very nearly let him know _your_ reason. I could see it.' I began to catch Poyning's drift. 'That would be unwise, of course,' I said. 'Unwise? It would be suicidal. I've had my eyes open since we came here, Mirlees, and I can see this much with absolute certainty: we are not _personæ gratæ_ in this state. The people greatly rejoice at getting back their King, as they call him--but they would sooner have had him come alone. There's a palpable atmosphere of suspicion wherever _we_ move.' 'You think so?' 'I do most decidedly. Look at the facts. These people find us, strangers, on the hillside. What is the first thing they do? They take very good care that we shall not run back by the way we came. It is not till they find Philipson also, and recognise him for their lost King, that things become easier for us. Why? Because, I take it, they thought we were his servants like the Chinese and might be trusted not to run away. But as soon as they learn more about us, suspicion brews again, and we are under arrest for a week. Then, apparently, Philipson having vouched for us, we are given more freedom and shown more secrets. I don't imagine that would have happened unless they were satisfied those secrets were safe in our keeping, and what does that mean? _That we must stay here for ever._'