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Then to her, his voice vibrating with emotion too long controlled: "Look and tell me, fairly. I must know. Whatever the outcome you must tell me truth. It will not matter. I can do nothing." "I will tell you the truth," she promised, raising the glasses. For some moments she looked intently. "It is Winkleman's safari," she announced sadly. "I have been able to see.
Until his influence over M'tela was quite assured, Winkleman's arrival would probably turn the scale. She had not prevented Kingozi's arriving before the Bavarian; but she might hold the Englishman comparatively powerless. That was understandable. Kingozi felt he might even love her the more for this evidence of a faithful spirit. But the last few days!
But I have told him that you are my enemy; and he sent his men with mine to find you; and now, as you can well comprehend, I must " But Winkleman's quick comprehension leaped ahead of Kingozi's speech. "I must play the prisoner, is it not?" he cried with one of his big laughs. "But so! Of course! That is comprehend. How could it be otherwise? I know my native! I know what he expects.
At the first mouthful he threw down his knife and fork, and pushed his plate from him. "What's the matter?" inquired his wife. "You didn't trust Bridget to cook this, I hope?" was the response. "What ails it?" Mrs. Winkleman's eyes were filling with tears. "Oh! it's of no consequence," answered Mr. Winkleman, coldly; "anything will do for me." "James!"
"But I feel so much better, that I will get up," she added, now rising from her pillow. And Mrs. Winkleman was entirely free from pain. As she stepped upon the carpet, and moved across the room, it was with a firm tread. Every muscle was elastic, and the blood leaped along her veins with a new and healthier impulse. No trial of Mr. Winkleman's patience, in a late dinner, was in store for him.
Her inner nervous tension, due as much to a conflict as to suspense, drove her nearly frantic. She knew that Winkleman's appearance spelled defeat for Kingozi; she knew that she should hope for that appearance and deep in her heart she knew that she dreaded it! But as time went on without tangible results, she began to long for it as a relief. At least it would be over then.
"It is serious. You should have a surgeon. But why have you not used the temporary remedy? Of course you know the effect of drugs?" "I know that atropin is ruin, right enough," said Kingozi grimly. "But the pilocarpin " "Of course. I only wish I had some." "But you have!" came Winkleman's astonished voice. "There is of it a large vial!" Kingozi gripped the arm of his chair for a full minute.
Mali-ya- bwana was left sufficiently armed by Winkleman's weapon and the sixteen cartridges captured on his person. By the water-hole Simba found the safari encamped. At sight of his khaki- clad figure several men ran to meet him. Their countenances were of a cast unfamiliar to Simba. He looked at them calmly. "Does some one speak Swahili?" he inquired. "N'dio!" they assented in chorus.
Firearms were familiar to them. The usual sequence to Simba's deed would have been an immediately defunct Simba. But his serene confidence in his magic caught their credulity. The white man's prestige and privileges were invested in him. "Yours is undoubtedly a great magic," said Winkleman's gun bearer politely. "Let us talk."
The divulgence of this simple little plan by a Simba quite in earnest dissipated Winkleman's last hope of doing anything by means of persuasion. He knew his African well enough to realize that this fantastic method of identification seemed quite a matter of course. In fact, Simba was at the moment sharpening his hunting knife in preparation. Winkleman swore heartily and fluently, then grinned.
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