After dark on the second evening, they reached the Bat's headquarters, in the company of a gang of savage negroes. They were exhausted by the journey, their clothes were torn, and they did not know if the negroes were their captors or their guides. So far as one could see, the village looked mean. A few small mud huts stood among mahogany trees and big cottonwoods. There was no light in the huts, but a fire burned outside one, and although the night was warm, indistinct figures crouched about the blaze. They vanished and appeared again when the light leaped up, and Marston remembered the factory boys squatting round the fires in Africa. But the Kroo laborers sang, and these fellows were strangely silent. In fact, a daunting quietness brooded over the spot. The Bat's hut was larger than the rest and a rude veranda occupied the front. There was no furniture except some mats and stools, and a badly-cleaned paraffin lamp gave a dim light. The Bat sat on a carved stool and wore a striped tennis jacket over his dirty white clothes. His legs and feet were bare; his lips stuck out and his nostrils were wide, and Marston felt that to fear and shrink from him was ridiculous. Yet he did shrink. Then he noted with some surprise that Father Sebastian occupied a mat in the corner. Next moment the Bat looked up with a mocking grin. "Why you lib for my village? It d---- poor place," he said. "We'll explain that later," Wyndham replied. "In the meantime, why is Father Sebastian here?" "I take care of him," said the Bat. "Fool black man rob his church." He paused and added with a cruel smile: "Them fool man pay." Wyndham turned to the priest. "Will you give us a few minutes, _padre_? We will send for you soon." Father Sebastian got up and the Bat nodded, as if he gave him leave to go. He went out and Wyndham sat down on a mat. "Now," he said, "suppose you drop this negro mummery and talk like an Englishman. I want to remember you are Rupert Wyndham. No doubt you meant to keep the missionary for a hostage, but it's not important. I imagine you did not expect to see us?" Rupert's face changed. Something of its coarseness vanished, his lips straightened, and he looked less like a mulatto. "I did expect you. Anyhow, I heard white men were coming, although I could only account for one," he said and added with an ominous smile: "I sent to meet you because I did not want you to lose your way." Marston knew that in Africa the negroes can signal news across the bush with remarkable speed. It looked as if Rupert had learned how this was done and taught his people. "Whom did you expect?" he asked. "Peters. He is a fool, but he has pluck. Some pluck is needed when one tries to blackmail me!" "I imagine Peters will come later, but not to bargain with you," Marston said dryly. "We have some grounds for believing he means to sell you to the Government."