morning!"

Zu Pfeiffer watched him depart; then he struck the bell sharply. Sergeant
Schultz appeared, a line of nervous expectancy upon his sallow face.

"Why have you not reported that man's arrival?" demanded zu Pfeiffer
harshly.

"Excellence," returned Schultz, saluting, "he has but arrived within the
hour in a launch, loaned to him by the Englaender."

"Ach! An English spy!"

"I do not know, Excellence."

"We ought to know. Why have you not a report of the man's movements? He
admits that he has been in the Wongolo country."

"Excellence, it is already done." Schultz hurriedly searched a card index
cabinet and handed a document to the lieutenant. "There is Saunders'
report, Excellence; more than six months old."

Zu Pfeiffer glanced at the page indicated and began to read while the
sergeant stood stiffly at attention.

"You may go, sergeant," announced zu Pfeiffer without looking up. Schultz
saluted and departed. Zu Pfeiffer finished the report leisurely, put down
the paper, and stared meditatively.

No, he decided, as he rose, all the English are spies.

CHAPTER 2

Like a topaz set in a jade ring was the city of the Snake, the place of
Kings, a village of some eight hundred huts huddled upon a slight rise
above a sea of banana fronds, some two hundred miles to the west of
Ingonya.

On the summit was a large conical hut like an enormous candle snuffer, the
dwelling place of Usakuma, the spirit of the Snake, whose name was
forbidden to all save the Priest-God and Rain Maker, King MFunya MPopo,
who was so holy that after succeeding to the sacred office he was doomed
to live within the compound, even as were the Kings of Eutopia, Sheba and
China, a celibate for the remainder of his life: for, as the incarnation
of the Idol, Usakuma, and therefore the controller of the Heavens and the
Earth, his body must be kept from all danger of witchcraft lest the rains
cease and the blue skies fall.

From the compound, looking towards the north-west where the snow-capped
Gamballagalla rose violet against the horizon, another brown cone peeped
above the green fronds, the late residence, and now the tomb of King
MKoffo, predecessor of MFunya MPopo. For where a King-God dies there is he
buried, he and his wives after him; the site becomes holy ground, a place
of pilgrimage and sanctuary.

In each of the small huts to the rear of the temple of MFunya MPopo, but
outside the s