“Well, it’s an improvement for these devils, anyhow,” was the answer. “Where we fine them a pound or so Cetywayo would have had them knocked on the head, and I’m not sure his way of doing things wasn’t the best.”
“You don’t like them, then. Now it struck me some of these chaps with the head-rings on were rather fine-looking fellows.”
“Damned scoundrels, if you only knew as much about them as we do!” was the somewhat sour reply.
“They seem civil enough, anyhow.”
“Just here they are, because they’ve got to be. But they are not everywhere. In fact, they are getting more cheeky every day. It’s just possible you may have come up here in time to see some ‘scrapping’.”
“Well, I’ll take a hand if there’s any going. What’s up?”
Inspector James had suddenly stopped. A Zulu was approaching them down the road, a tall man, ringed, and clad in a long overcoat.
“There’s one I’d like to have by the heels,” he said. “He’s up to no good, I can tell you.”
The man saluted as he passed them, and then astonishment was in store for Denham. To new arrivals the faces of natives are very much alike, but the face of this one he had good reason to remember. He knew, too, that the recognition was mutual.
“Who is he, then?” he asked.