“Do you hear?” cried the searcher. “Clap that right foot upon the stool.”
The black stared at him vacantly, shook his head again, and turned to the second searcher, who translated the order into the man’s own tongue.
At this the black smiled and nodded. Then, turning to the chief searcher, he placed his bare left foot upon the stool.
“No, no: the other,” cried the stern official, pointing to the right foot, and the order was emphasised by his assistant.
Once more the black looked intelligent, placed both his feet upon the ground, changed them several times by shuffling them about, and once more placed his left foot upon the stool.
Anson chuckled with delight, and turned to West.
But this act on the part of the black was too much for the chief searcher’s composure.
“Up with the black scoundrel’s foot!” he roared, and his assistant seized the black’s ankle, and gave it such a vigorous hoist that the man’s equilibrium was upset, so that, though the foot was planted firmly on the stool, he fell over backwards, leaving his support upon the stool, where it was probed by the searchers, who were not at all surprised to find a large stone hidden between the little and the next toe.
“There’s a blackguard!” cried Anson excitedly, turning to his companions. “He ought to be well flogged, and no mistake. Well, I never!”
The last words were uttered in disgust at the man’s behaviour, for he burst into a hearty laugh as if thoroughly enjoying the discovery, professing at the same time to be utterly astonished.