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"That was when the fellow was still prowling round to find the ammunition which we buried in readiness for the present time. Our good friend Ulrich trapped him." "Why didn't you shoot the Englishman as soon as I had departed for South-West Africa?" enquired Ulrich von Gobendorff. "It would have been a simple solution to the difficulty, for dead men tell no tales."

Elephants crashed through the brushwood making their way to the water, while at intervals rhinoceri and bush-cows charged blindly past the fiercely burning fire. Von Gobendorff was in a big game hunter's paradise, but he failed utterly to show enthusiasm at the prospect.

Can we not take you across to our village, where there are plenty of men who will paddle you to Kossa?" "My word," said von Gobendorff, "is law." To add greater emphasis to his words he produced his automatic pistol. The argument was conclusive. With every indication of fear the two natives pushed off, and seizing the paddles they propelled the unwieldy craft down stream.

Hardly able to wait until the meal was prepared von Gobendorff turned to and ate with avidity, washing down the food with copious draughts of hot and far from palatable beverage. Having refreshed he ordered the blacks to hide all traces of his bivouac and made them carry him to the canoe.

The Birwa's arms collapsed, he fell at full length upon the rounded mass of timber, and, slipping sideways, toppled inertly into the foaming torrent. "Hamba gachle!" exclaimed von Gobendorff, using a Zulu expression that he had picked up in his many and diverse wanderings through South and Central Africa. "Dead men tell no tales, and you were in my way."

Suddenly the German caught sight of a huge teak-tree that, having been uprooted, was trailing over the banks. It was a faint chance, but von Gobendorff decided to risk it. Raising his hand he pointed towards the tree-trunk. Already the roar of the water made it impossible for the Birwas to hear him speak.

"I am anxious to find a certain individual known as von Gobendorff," continued the British subaltern. "Can you give me any information concerning him?" The oberst seemed considerably taken aback. "I do not know any person so called," he replied after a slight hesitation. "Think again, Herr von Lindenfelt," prompted Wilmshurst.

"Go on!" he ordered. The men plied their paddles vigorously. Although the heavily-constructed canoe was incapable of any great speed, and was also undermanned, the commotion of the paddles and the frantic shouts of the two blacks made up for the lack of manoeuvring powers. The hippo dived. The canoe shot past. Von Gobendorff breathed freely, but he was too premature.

The captive Askaris were subjected to a strict examination, with the result that it was discovered that Robert MacGregor was really a German, and a person of some official capacity, since he was on friendly terms with the Hun commandant, while an Askari sergeant gave the traitor's name with great distinctness, Ulrich von Gobendorff, adding that the German used to have charge of a fortified post at Twashi in the Narewenda Hills.

The passage of the Kiwa which was here about one hundred and twenty yards in breadth was performed without mishap, in spite of the fact that the current ran at a speed of two knots, for the spot where the crossing was effected was two miles below the rapids that had all but claimed von Gobendorff as a victim.