. . and my calm.

I repeat, but in a tone which doesn't convey a threat, "Oh, there you are, you double-dyed villain! What are you doing here?"

"Me have servant here," replied Tchoumouki, looking down shamefacedly as he opens the door wider.

In the corridor are two other Negroes carrying some food; Tchoumouki sets it out on my table. The sight makes my mouth water, and I realize that I'm dying of hunger. That's not surprising. I'm still fasting, and it's now two in the afternoon.

Casting all care aside, I do justice to the meal, which Tchoumouki serves respectfully; I question him, and he makes no bones about replying. According to him I'm the guest, (quite involuntary!)-of a mighty king, Harry Killer (rather a nasty name, between ourselves) and he's had me brought to this extraordinary town, where "there are many big houses" and "many toubab things" which means it's full of European contrivances. I don't find this hard to believe, after my experiences in those prodigious flymg machines, which still amaze me.

I go on with my enquiry. It must be the king in question who put him, Tchoumouki, in the path of Mlle Mornas, who engaged him as guide, much as one chooses, in spite of himself, a conjurer's forced card. Tchoumouki says no, that he was engaged without any mental reservations. He even maintains that he never broke his engagement and that he regards himself as in the service of Mademoiselle Mornas and St. Berain so long as they stay in Africa. Is he mocking me? I look at him. No, he speaks seriously, which has something rather comical about it.

He says he was seduced by Morilire who himself was certainly in the pay of the monarch who's keeping us prisoner. Not content widi lavishing gold upon him, it seems that Morilire had described in the most poetic terms the power and generosity of this Harry Killer, whom Tchoumouki had never seen, and had promised him a free and easy life. Such were the reasons which made Tchoumouki turn his coat.

When I ask him if he knows what's become of his old friend Tongane, his ugly face takes on a fierce look, he passes his hand across his throat, and goes "Kwik!"

Then I've guessed right. Poor Tongane is stone dead.

Tchoumouki finishes his confidences. The roaring which I'd heard on the day he vanished came from a flying machine which brought Lieutenant Lacour, or rather Captain Edward Rufus. His men had come to meet us by the terrestrial route under the command of the two N.C.O.'s, meanwhile amusing themselves by plundering the villages they found in their way. It was the skates of that flying machine which when it landed had carved in the bush tire grooves I'd seen next day while out for my ride with Tongane.

This explains the unkempt appearance of the soldiers and the impeccable elegance of the officer. It explains, too, the terror of the Negro wounded by the explosive bullet when he recognized one of the men who'd attacked his village, in spite of his indifference towards the so-called lieutenant, whom he'd never before seen. As for him, Tchoumouki, he'd been brought by the same machine when it returned to its port of departure, here, that is....

He pronounces a name which he mangles terribly. By dint of much attention, I at last realize that he's trying to say "Blackland," a composite English word. This is quite plausible. So here we are at Blackland, a marvellous town according to Tchoumouki, although unknown to the best-informed geographers.

While the Negro gives me this news, I ponder. As he has betrayed us for gain, why shouldn't he betray his new masters for the same reason? I approach him accordingly, and I mention a sum which would enable him to pass his whole life in delicious idleness. The rascal seems to find the proposal quite natural, but he shakes his head, like a man who doesn't see any chance of getting the prize.

"There no way of going," he tells me. "Here there many soldiers, many 'toubab things,' many big walls."

He adds that the town is surrounded by the desert, which we couldn't possibly cross. That's true, as I'd seen for myself when I traversed it by air. So are we condemned to remain here for the rest of our days?

The meal over, Tchoumouki goes, and I finish my day alone.

In the evening he serves my dinner (the cooking is quite good, in fact) then, just as my watch shows a few minutes past nine, the electric bulb suddenly goes out.