R FIFTEEN.

A REVELATION--WITH A VENGEANCE.

"Then, it wouldn't have killed him, Vine?"

"I think not. I could not quite locate the stuff. You see I have had
no opportunity of making a study of these native drugs. They take
precious good care we shan't," answered the District Surgeon.

Elvesdon was conscious of a sense of relief at this verdict. It would
save complications at any rate. He would not now be obliged to open up
a serious enquiry at a time when the native pulse had to be fingered
very carefully.

"But why the deuce should they give him the stuff if it wasn't to get
him out of the way?" he said.

"Well, you see, a drug, even of a poisonous nature, may have other uses
than to cause death. It may be administered in sufficiently small
proportions to cause a sort of waking stupefaction, a semi-consciousness
in which the will power lies torpid, and the recipient may be made to do
or say anything which others may choose to make him do or say. Now
Zavula is an important chief--a very important chief--and respected as a
singularly able and level-headed one, consequently his `word' once
uttered would carry more weight than that of upstarts like Babatyana and
half a dozen others put together. See?"

"Yes. In other words he'd be of more use to them alive than dead?"

"That's it. But--by the way, Elvesdon, it's a pity I didn't have that
bowl a bit sooner. You know traces of some poisons are easier located
if investigated early."

"Yes, but we were both of us so infernally busy. And perhaps neither of
us took the thing sufficiently seriously."

The two were seated in Elvesdon's inner office, and were, so to say,
holding an inquest on the District Surgeon's investigation of old
Zavula's drinking bowl. The doctor was a sturdy, thick-set man, of
anything from fifty onwards but probably much more; grizzled and
red-faced; very downright in manner, but genial and well-liked. He and
the new magistrate had taken to each other at once.

"Think there'll be trouble Elvesdon--over the new tax for instance?"
said the doctor.

"The Lord only knows, and He won't tell. I'm doing all I can, but this
business of Zavula's looks more than a bit ugly. I don't mind telling
you. Babatyana's an infernal scoundrel, and he's practically chief of
the Amahluzi. Poor old Zavula is for all practical purposes only a
sleeping partner, I'm afraid."

"M-m," said the other.

"Well I think, as you can't certify that this