So far it appeared extremely probable that Edwin Lister was the assassin of Captain Huxham. From the evidence of her own eyes, Bella knew that Cyril's father had called to see the old sailor, and that she had not seen him depart was owing to the fact of the drugging. By putting laudanum in the girl's tea Huxham had precipitated his own death, since Bella, with her wits about her, might have made a third at the interview, and so the blow would not have been struck. Neither Bella nor Cyril thought that Edwin Lister had come to the Manor intending to murder Huxham, although it certainly seemed strange that the former should have carried with him the Nigerian knife with which the crime had been committed. But howsoever this particular point might be explained, it was probable that the tragedy was the outcome of a sudden quarrel.

Edwin Lister had profited but little by his crime, since the sum of one hundred pounds was all that he had been able to find in the safe. Certainly many papers had been carried away, but there was nothing to show that these were of value, save the fact that they had been thieved. If Edwin Lister could only be found, an explanation might be forthcoming; but he seemed to have vanished completely. It was not improbable that he had walked to Tarhaven, some miles away, to escape on a steamer to the Continent; but if this was the case it was strange that he had not communicated with his savage friend. Durgo was a man upon whom Edwin Lister could rely entirely, setting aside the fact that Durgo was needed to guide the expedition into the Hinterland of Nigeria, where the treasure was concealed. It was now some weeks since the death and burial of the skipper, but as yet Edwin Lister had given no sign of his existence. And until he did so, there was no chance of solving the mystery.

True to his promise, Cyril called at "The Chequers Inn" to see Durgo, and found that the negro was looked upon as a royal guest. The lean landlady believed him to be an African prince, on a secret mission to England concerning the missionary question. She was right in one way, for Durgo undoubtedly was a chief, and the son of a chief; but it was questionable if he was the friend of the missionaries. However—as Cyril found—he made this excuse for his presence in Marshely, and Mrs. Giles, the landlady, a red-hot fanatic, was delighted that her house should be so honoured. Also Durgo paid largely for the sitting-room and bedroom which he occupied.

Cyril was amazed when he called one evening, to see this same sitting-room, as he saw evidence of great luxury in the articles brought by the negro to decorate the somewhat bare apartment. The furniture of the parlour—as Mrs. Giles called it—was plain and cheap, but there were evidences that it was occupied by a wealthy guest. Indian coverlets, gorgeously embroidered, adorned the chairs; there were splendid wild-beast skins on the floor, and on the side-tables appeared several silver vases rudely but skilfully wrought. Cyril noted a bronze incense-burner in which pastilles smouldered, several small golden images of ugly tribal gods, some beautifully-made spears and war-clubs, brightly-hued feathers, curious shells, and photographs of native towns and their inhabitants. Why Durgo should travel with such a collection of rubbish was not clear; but probably he did so, that he might be surrounded by memorials of his sunny country in the land of fogs and greyness.

Durgo himself was a surprise, as he received Cyril in a well-made smoking suit, and, quite in the conventional manner, offered him cigarettes of a good brand and the orthodox whiskey and soda. "Or champagne if you prefer it," said Durgo, laying his black hand on the old-fashioned bell-rope.

"Coffee for me," said Lister, throwing himself into a comfortable arm-chair, and accepting a cigarette. "Do you know, Durgo, that you are something of a puzzle to me?"

The negro rang the bell, gave an order for coffee to Mrs. Giles, who entered, and when she had retired turned to his guest. "How so?" he asked.

"Your very good English, the adornments of this room, your present dress—I did not look for such things in a—a——" Cyril hesitated.

"In an African negro," finished Durgo, sitting down, with a grave smile.

"Well, yes. People of your colour," added Cyril, with the covert insolence of the white towards the black, "don't usually——"

Durgo raised one large hand. "I know: don't proceed," he said with suppressed anger; "you think we are barbarians."

"Well, you are, as a rule."

"I am the exception to this rule." Durgo paused, and his eyes wandered to some photographs over the mantel-piece. "I told you that the missionaries educated me," he continued, "but if you look at those photographs, you might learn who was my real Alma Mater."

"Alma Mater," repeated Cyril, rising to approach the mantel-piece; "why, these are University photographs."

"Oxford. I was at Oxford some years ago."

"You?" Cyril looked at the groups of boating-men, cricketers, football players, and wondered. He wondered still more at a portrait of Durgo in a Master of Arts gown. "You!" said Cyril, completely surprised.

"Yes. Why not? My father was a great chief—a king, as you might say. But it was Edwin Lister who first fired my ambition to learn the lore of the white men, so that I might civilise my tribe. He induced my father to give me much money, and took me to England himself many years ago. I was at school, and at Oxford until I took my degree. Then I returned to my tribe in Nigeria—in Southern Nigeria—and as my father was dead I attempted to teach my countrymen and subjects what I had learned. Your father helped me, and it was then that he saved my life when a lion attacked me. I could do nothing, however," continued the negro bitterly, "as my countrymen were too much under the sway of the fetish priests. These raised an outcry against me, and nominating a cousin of mine as chief, drove me and your father away. We only escaped death by an accident, but I managed to bring some treasure with me, and came with your father to England."

"And now I suppose you want to find this treasure you spoke of, and regain your chiefdom," said Cyril, interested in this strange story.

Durgo fingered a cigarette carefully, and lighted the same. "There is no treasure," he remarked quietly.

"But you said——"

"I know I did, when Miss Huxham was present. Women, as I say, should know nothing or hear nothing of these things. To you I speak plainly, as you are the son of my master, and so are entitled to my regard and trust. I came here with your father," added Durgo slowly, "to get money from Huxham, so that we both might buy guns and swords and rifles, to re-conquer my tribe."

"But the British Government?"

"Quite so. The Government would not approve, so for that reason I remained in rough clothes, in rough lodgings, near the docks; while Edwin Lister went to live in the West End. He interested several adventurous spirits in our proposed expedition, but money was sadly needed, and I had not enough. Thus your father came down to see Captain Huxham, and get that which was required. Captain Huxham, whom your father had met in Nigeria, owed my father a lot of money, which he did not pay. I was only employing Edwin Lister to get back my own."

"I see. But how did my father learn the whereabouts of Captain Huxham?"

"You told him," was the negro's unexpected reply.

"I told him! I don't recollect——"

"Perhaps not, as you spoke hurriedly. But don't you remember that when your father one day asked you for money, you said that you wished to save all you could, as you desired to marry Miss Huxham. Your father questioned you, and learned that she was the daughter of an old sailor. It was therefore easy for him to guess that he had found the man for whom he was seeking."

"But I did not tell my father where Captain Huxham lived."

Durgo waved his hand, as Mrs. Giles brought in the coffee. "That was easy," he remarked, when she left the room, "you were followed here by your father. But now that you understand the position, will you work with me?"

"I will work with you to learn the truth about this murder."

"I understand," said Durgo shrewdly, "so that you may prove Edwin Lister's innocence."

"Yes," said Cyril, accepting the cup of black coffee which his host passed to him. "I am hoping to see my father and to learn that he did not kill Captain Huxham. If he did, there is no chance of happiness for me, as I cannot then marry Miss Huxham."

Durgo stirred his coffee calmly. "No, that is true. I am sorry for you. But if such is the case, and your marriage is an impossibility, why not come with us on our expedition to the Hinterland of Nigeria? If I win back my chiefdom, I can do much for you."

"I don't want to go with my father," said Cyril, turning pale, "especially if he has—as I suspect—spoiled my life's happiness. If he is innocent, I can then marry Miss Huxham, and will stay at home."

"Quite so. I understand. But my offer is always open to you, if you choose to take it. Meanwhile, the first thing to do is to learn what Edwin Lister took away with him."

"One hundred pounds."

"Yes, and some papers. I wish to learn what those papers are, as Captain Huxham may have made a memorandum of the property he possessed. There may be other papers which may cast light on those which were stolen."

"But I don't understand," said Cyril perplexed. "Whatever property Captain Huxham possessed went to his sister, now Mrs. Henry Vand."

"The English property," said Durgo with emphasis; then seeing that his guest was still puzzled, he laughed in his guttural way. "Never mind. I have an idea which may or may not turn out to be correct. I shall know when Mrs. Tunks comes here this evening, and then I can explain myself fully."

"Mrs. Tunks—Granny Tunks! What has she to do with the matter?"

Durgo smiled in his slow way. "My friend, I have not been idle while in Marshley looking for my master Edwin Lister. I wished to search the Manor-house for possible papers to reveal that which I desire to know."

"What is that?"

"I shall tell you when I am sure," said the negro doggedly, "and not until then. But it was impossible for me to enter the Manor-house and search, as this man Vand is very clever and cunning, and more of a watch-dog than his stupid wife. I could have managed her had she been unmarried, by posing as a wealthy prince—in fact, I could have cajoled her as I have done Mrs. Giles—but her husband is suspicious and sharp. I could do nothing. Then I learned that this gipsy woman, Mrs. Tunks, is in the habit of charing at the Manor-house. I therefore offered to pay her a large sum if she would bring to me certain papers which are hidden in a sandal-wood chest, carved with the figures of the gods of my tribe."

"How do you know that such a chest exists or is in the Manor-house?"

"After I see Mrs. Tunks I can tell you," said Durgo softly.

"How will Mrs. Tunks know the chest?"

"I have described it to her. The figures of the gods are carved on soft white wood, and the lines are filled in with red and blue and yellow pigment. The design and the decoration are very noticeable. The work is, what you call in English, skrimshanking."

"I thought the word was a military slang one, meaning to shirk work," said Cyril, after a pause.

"Quite so, but I think the word is a nautical one. Sailors carve and colour their carvings in the way I mention, and call such work skrimshanking. I expect that when a sailor was not at his post the excuse made was that he was skrimshanking; hence the slang meaning of the word."

"Very interesting from a philological point of view," yawned Lister, taking another cigarette; "but had we not better get back to our talk of my father's whereabouts?"

"We can do nothing until I know what Edwin Lister took away with him," said Durgo again, "and that I can only learn if Mrs. Tunks brings the papers I mentioned this evening." He glanced at the travelling clock on the mantel-piece. "Nearly nine; she should be here soon."

"But will she have the papers?"

"Yes. Yesterday she told me that she saw the chest in an attic under a pile of rubbish, but had no chance of opening it. To-day she is charing at the Manor-house, and will be able to get what I want."

"But if Mrs. Vand catches her?"

"Mrs. Vand won't," was the confident reply. "Granny Tunks is too clever to be caught and moreover wants to earn the fifty pounds I promised her."

"Great Scott! are you so wealthy as to——"

"Yes, yes!" interrupted Durgo impatiently. "I have much money, but not enough for my expedition. Unless indeed Edwin Lister has carried these papers, which will show us how to get the money."

"Then my father knew about this chest also?"

"Yes. I expect he looked for it in Captain Huxham's study after the crime was committed. Unfortunately it happened, according to Granny Tunks, to be in the attic, so he missed it. But Huxham may have had the papers in his study."

"And that was why the room was so upset?" asked Lister thoughtfully.

"That was why. After the crime was committed——"

"Great heavens! man," burst out the other irritably, "don't talk as if it was certain that my father killed the man."

"If he did not, who did?" demanded Durgo coolly; then, as Cyril was markedly silent, he continued, "I think very little of the killing myself. If what I believe about the papers I require is correct, Captain Huxham deserved his death as a thief and a false friend."

"You speak in riddles," said Lister bewildered.

"Granny Tunks can solve them," replied the negro significantly. "Have some more coffee and try these cigars. They are superfine."

Cyril silently accepted this further hospitality, and stared furtively at the calm black face of his host. The nose was aquiline and the lips extraordinarily thin, so it was apparent that Durgo had Arab blood in his veins. Perhaps he was a descendant of those conquering Mohammedans who came down like a storm on Central Africa, in the Middle Ages. What with Durgo's looks, his educated speech and his air of command, Cyril wondered that he had ever taken the negro for an ordinary black. All the same he believed that, given the necessary environment, the savagery would break out from under the thin veneer of civilisation which the man had acquired at Oxford. Scratch a Russian and you find a Tartar; scratch a modern man, semi-civilised or wholly civilised, and you find the prehistoric animal.

While Cyril was thinking in this manner and watching the black man's face through the smoke, he saw Durgo suddenly listen intently, with the air of an animal scenting danger. Shortly footsteps were heard in the passage without, and the door opened to admit Granny Tunks, who was shown in by Mrs. Giles. The toss of the lean landlady's head, and her air of disdain, showed that she was by no means pleased with the ragged visitor. But a glance from the glossy Romany eye of Mrs. Tunks sent her shuddering out of the room. In spite of the religion taught by Silas Pence at the Little Bethel chapel, Mrs. Giles was primitive enough to believe in the power of the evil eye. And she had some reason to, for people who offended Mrs. Tunks invariably underwent a spell of bad luck.

"Here I am, master," said Mrs. Tunks with a cringing air, and Cyril started to hear her so address the negro. He was further surprised when he saw how commanding were the looks of Durgo.

"Have you got those papers?" asked the negro, extending his large hand.

Granny Tunks had them and said so, but it took her some time to find them, so ragged were her garments and so hidden her pocket. She still wore the brown dress tagged with parti-coloured ribbons, and her plentiful white hair still hung like seaweed from under the dingy red handkerchief. Also as usual she jingled with the multiplicity of coins which dangled from her neck, her wrists, and from various parts of her picturesque dress. In sixty or seventy seconds she managed to find a bundle of dusty papers tied up with faded red tape, and passed them to Durgo with ingratiating smiles. "There you are, deary——"

"Master!" snapped the negro, with sudden ferocity.

"Yes, master," stammered the woman, turning slightly pale under her brown skin. "I found them in the chest you spoke of. The cat"—she meant Mrs. Vand—"didn't see me, master, so no one knows but this gentleman; but he won't say a word; no, no, I'll be bound he won't."

"How do you know?" asked Cyril sharply.

Mrs. Tunks replied without taking her beady black eyes from Durgo. "I saw the coming of the master in the crystal, lovey, and told your dear sweetheart of the same. The master brings good luck to you both, so if you tell, it will part you and your deary for ever."

"We are parted as it is," said Cyril bitterly.

"Perhaps not," replied the old woman.

Lister rose from his chair and stared. "What do you mean?" he cried imperiously.

Durgo, who had been examining the papers, looked up on hearing this question, and shot forth a long arm in the direction of the door. "Go!" he said to Mrs. Tunks. "Go at once."

"And the money, master?"

"You shall have it to-morrow, as soon as I have examined these. Go, I say; I am not used to speak twice."

"But Durgo," cried Cyril, annoyed by the interruption, "I want to know——"

"You shall know what Mrs. Tunks has to say to-morrow," said Durgo, settling down into the chair and still examining the papers.

The witch-wife, who had moved slowly towards the door, had not looked at Lister once during her stay in the room. All the time her gaze was fixed almost reverentially upon the negro. In spite of Durgo's prohibition Cyril crossed the room to catch Mrs. Tunks by the arm. But the moment he touched her she seemed to wake up as from a magnetic spell, and opening the door slipped through like a snake. When the door was closed again Cyril, in some anger, faced Durgo.

"Why didn't you let me question her?"

"She would have said nothing," returned the man dryly, "because she knows nothing."

"She hinted that Bella—Miss Huxham, I mean—and myself would not be parted."

Durgo shrugged his shoulders. "Hai! The woman is a witch and knows doings of the unseen. She may have been told——"

"Oh, rubbish! I don't believe in such things."

"Possibly you don't; I do. I have been taught things which would open your eyes if I explained them. In Africa we know much that you don't know."

A sudden light flashed into Cyril's brain. "Is that why Mrs. Tunks addressed you as master?"

Durgo nodded absently, still reading the papers. But he did not reply in words, as his eyes were travelling over some faded writing and his lips were moving. Before Cyril could ask another question, as he was desirous of doing, the negro started to his feet with a fierce shout, which sounded like a warcry.

"As I believed; as I thought!" he shouted. "Hai! the good news."

"What is it?" asked Lister, surprised by the savage exultation.

Durgo thrust the papers into his pocket and began to tell a story without any preamble. "When my father was chief, there were two traders in his town whom he trusted. One traded inland, and the other commanded the river steamer. Maxwell Faith was the inland trader's name, and the steamer commander was Jabez Huxham. For services rendered, my father, the chief Kawal, gave Mr. Faith jewels to the value of forty thousand pounds. Huxham became jealous, and having murdered Faith ran away with the jewels. He brought them to England, to Bleacres, and feared night and day lest he should be assaulted and killed for the sake of the treasure. That is why Huxham planted the fields with corn, leaving only one path whereby to reach the Manor-house. He did not wish to be surprised. Huxham took Faith's papers also regarding the value and number of these jewels. The papers were in the chest I told you of, and I have these papers here"—he tapped his breast—"but the jewels no doubt have been taken by your father, who doubtless killed Huxham to get them." Durgo nodded. "Good, very good. When my master Edwin Lister writes to me to join him, we can sell the jewels for forty thousand pounds and then can fit out our expedition to recover my chiefdom. Good-night, Lister. I have work to do; good night!" and before Cyril could recover from his amazement he found himself gently led into the passage and heard the door locked.

"What does it all mean?" he asked himself, but could not answer the question.