"Looks as if the owners of this place had left it in a hurry,
Quatermain," said Stephen.
"That's it, my boy. Or perhaps they didn't leave; perhaps they stopped
here."
"Murdered?"
I nodded and said, "I dare say friend Hassan could tell us something
about the matter. Meanwhile as supper isn't ready yet, let us have a
look at that church while it is light."
We walked through the palm and orange grove to where the building
stood finely placed upon a mound. It was well-constructed of a kind of
coral rock, and a glance showed us that it had been gutted by fire;
the discoloured walls told their own tale. The interior was now full
of shrubs and creepers, and an ugly, yellowish snake glided from what
had been the stone altar. Without, the graveyard was enclosed by a
broken wall, only we could see no trace of graves. Near the gateway,
however, was a rough mound.
"If we could dig into that," I said, "I expect we should find the
bones of the people who inhabited this place. Does that suggest
anything to you, Stephen?"
"Nothing, except that they were probably killed.
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