Portugee, whom they call 'Two-faces,' asks the king to kill
you every time he sees him. Indeed, I've heard him myself."

"That's kind of him," I answered, "but, then, Hernan Pereira and I
never got on. Tell me what is he talking about to the king when he isn't
asking him to kill me."

"Don't know," he said again. "Something dirty, I'll be bound. One may be
sure of that by the native name they have given him. I think, however,"
he added in a whisper, "that he has had a lot to do with the Boers being
allowed to come here at all in order to get their treaty signed. At
least, one day when I was interpreting and Dingaan swore that he would
not give them more land than was enough to bury them in, Pereira told
him that it didn't matter what he signed, as 'what was written with the
pen could be scratched out with the spear.'"

"Indeed! And what did the king say to that?"

"Oh! he laughed and said it was true, and that he would give the Boer
commission all their people wanted and something over for themselves.
But don't you repeat that, Quatermain, for if you do, and it gets to the
ear of Dingaan, I shall certainly be killed. And, I say, you're a good
fellow, and I won a big bet on you over that vulture shooting, so I will
give you a bit of advice, which you will be wise to take. You get out of
this country as soon as you can, and go to look after that pretty Miss
Marais, whom you are sweet on. Dingaan wants her, and what Dingaan wants
he gets in this part of the world."

Then, without waiting to be thanked, he turned and disappeared among
a crowd of Zulus, who were following us from curiosity, leaving me
wondering whether or no Dingaan was right when he called this young man
a liar. His story seemed to tally so well with that told by the king
himself, that on the whole I thought he was not.

Just after I had passed the main gateway of the great town, where, his
office done, Kambula saluted and left me, I saw two white men engaged in
earnest conversation beneath one of the milk trees which, as I think I
have already mentioned, grow, or grew, there. They were Henri Marais
and his nephew. Catching sight of me, Marais walked off, but Pereira
advanced and spoke to me, although, warned perhaps by what had happened
to him in the case of Retief, I am glad to say he did not offer me his
hand.

"Good day to you, Allan," he said effusively. "I have just heard from my
uncle that I have to congratulate you, about Marie I mean, and,