He’s a man of the Northern Ochori.”

“When I said Isisi,” said Bones shamelessly, “I naturally meant the Ochori. I know his father. Jolly nice, amiable old rascal…”

“I hanged his father ten years ago,” said the patient Sanders, “and I think that hanging runs in the family.”

“lt does,” murmured Bones, unabashed. “Now that you come to mention him, sir, I remember him. M’gula, of course. Dear old Ham, I’m really surprised at your forgetting a fellow like M’gula!”

“What has he been doing, sir?” asked Hamilton.

“Poison – that is certain; probably a more picturesque murder, though I think that is going to be difficult to prove. Busubu, the little chief in that part of the country, has disappeared. I think he was a little mad. The last time I was through the country he was developing sleep sickness – the neck glands were typical, but I thought he’d last longer before the mad stage was reached.”

He tapped his white teeth with the tip of his fingers – evidence of his uneasiness.

“I’ve half a mind to send you up to the country, Bones – you could take the Wiggle and call in on Bosambo en route.”

“Surely it is rather a simple matter to bring M’gula to trial?” asked Hamilton. “It isn’t unusual. A chief mysteriously disappears, a relative jumps into the vacant place…?”

Sanders shook his head. “There is a curious feature about this crime – if it is a crime. Nobody can be found who can or will give evidence. Usually, even in a small village, you can collect a dozen stories that fit together. Bosambo says that two months ago M’gula made a journey to headquarters – I don’t remember his coming.”

Something in Bones’ face attracted his superior’s attention.

“Bones! You saw him?”

“Did I, dear old Ham? I’m blessed if I remember. What with sitting up all night with your jolly old hens–”

“You saw him, and I’ll bet your infernal passion for educating the unfortunate native is responsible. What branch of study did you take?”

Bones rose from the table and folded his serviette deliberately.

“If every time a naughty old chief disappears you’re going to lay it at my door, sir,” he said bitterly, “and if every – ” Suddenly he stopped and his tone changed. “What about sending me up to nose around, excellency? I don’t want to praise myself, but I’ve got a gift for that sort of work. Things you wouldn’t notice, dear old bat-eyed superior, I should spot in a minute. You know me, excellency – when you lost your cigarette holder, who found it?”

“I did,” said Hamilton.

“But who put you on the track, dear old Ham? Who was it said, ‘Did you look in your pocket?’ Me! I bet I’d unearth this mystery in two twinks! It’s observation that does it. A little bit of cigar ash, a torn-up letter. Things an ordinary johnny wouldn’t think of looking for…”

“I don’t think you’ll find either cigar ash or letters in the Ochori forest,” said Sanders drily, “but I do feel that this matter should be inquired into. Take the Wiggle, Bones, and go to the village. You might pick up Bosambo on your way. Leave the appointment of a new chief to him. And be careful! These folk of the north are queer and clannish. Even Bosambo has never quite mastered them. You may be successful.”

Bones smiled indulgently at the word “may.”

Bosambo, Paramount Chief of the Ochori, held a palaver of all his fifty chiefs, for there was trouble in the land. The crops had unexpectedly failed, goat sickness had made a mysterious and devastating appearance, and three considerable tribes had refused tribute, and had sent defiant messages to their lord. There was talk of a confederation between these, and that could only mean war.