As I was following him, and wondering what on earth he could mean by this, there suddenly appeared, through the door that opened on to the veranda from the house, a dapper little man, dressed in a neat blue cotton suit, with shoes made of tanned hide, and remarkable for a bustling air and most enormous black mustachios, shaped into an upward curve, and coming to a point for all the world like a pair of buffalo-horns.
‘Madame bids me for to say that dinnar is sarved. Messieurs, my compliments;’ then suddenly perceiving Umslopogaas, who was loitering along after us and playing with his battleaxe, he threw up his hands in astonishment. ‘Ah, mais quel homme!’ he ejaculated in French, ‘quel sauvage affreux! Take but note of his huge choppare and the great pit in his head.’
‘Ay,’ said Mr Mackenzie; ‘what are you talking about, Alphonse?’
‘Talking about!’ replied the little Frenchman, his eyes still fixed upon Umslopogaas, whose general appearance seemed to fascinate him; ‘why I talk of him’ — and he rudely pointed — ‘of ce monsieur noir.’
At this everybody began to laugh, and Umslopogaas, perceiving that he was the object of remark, frowned ferociously, for he had a most lordly dislike of anything like a personal liberty.
‘Parbleu!’ said Alphonse, ‘he is angered — he makes the grimace. I like not his air. I vanish.’ And he did with considerable rapidity.
Mr Mackenzie joined heartily in the shout of laughter which we indulged in. ‘He is a queer character — Alphonse,’ he said. ‘By and by I will tell you his history; in the meanwhile let us try his cooking.’
‘Might I ask,’ said Sir Henry, after we had eaten a most excellent dinner, ‘how you came to have a French cook in these wilds?’
‘Oh,’ answered Mrs Mackenzie, ‘he arrived here of his own accord about a year ago, and asked to be taken into our service. He had got into some trouble in France, and fled to Zanzibar, where he found an application had been made by the French Government for his extradition. Whereupon he rushed off up-country, and fell in, when nearly starved, with our caravan of men, who were bringing us our annual supply of goods, and was brought on here. You should get him to tell you the story.’
When dinner was over we lit our pipes, and Sir Henry proceeded to give our host a description of our journey up here, over which he looked very grave.
‘It is evident to me,’ he said, ‘that those rascally Masai are following you, and I am very thankful that you have reached this house in safety. I do not think that they will dare to attack you here. It is unfortunate, though, that nearly all my men have gone down to the coast with ivory and goods. There are two hundred of them in the caravan, and the consequence is that I have not more than twenty men available for defensive purposes in case they should attack us. But, still, I will just give a few orders;’ and, calling a black man who was loitering about outside in the garden, he went to the window, and addressed him in a Swahili dialect. The man listened, and then saluted and departed.
‘I am sure I devoutly hope that we shall bring no such calamity upon you,’ said I, anxiously, when he had taken his seat again. ‘Rather than bring those bloodthirsty villains about your ears, we will move on and take our chance.’
‘You will do nothing of the sort. If the Masai come, they come, and there is an end on it; and I think we can give them a pretty warm greeting. I would not show any man the door for all the Masai in the world.’
‘That reminds me,’ I said, ‘the Consul at Lamu told me that he had had a letter from you, in which you said that a man had arrived here who reported that he had come across a white people in the interior. Do you think that there was any truth in his story? I ask, because I have once or twice in my life heard rumours from natives who have come down from the far north of the existence of such a race.’