The bearers squatted outside the hut, and the guards leaned against the wall, but the four white men of the party, for Jack and Niellsen had come forward to join the leaders, retired within for a consultation. The hut was clean and free from odors, and with a sigh they sank down on the small mushroom-like stools standing about and relaxed.
“Nothing to do except wait, I suppose,” said Mr. Ransome finally, after the matter had been discussed from various angles. “But if Chief Namla doesn’t soon send for us, we shall have to take the next step. And that will be to summon him and inform him, as we planned, that we intend to invoke the white man’s Great Spirit to rout his evil counselor, The Prophet. We shall have to speak without mincing matters, and carry it off with a high hand.”
“Provided I can first find a way of fixing up the radio,” said Jack. “And I believe that way already has been found. Did you notice the chief disappear into the next hut?”
The others nodded.
“Well, doesn’t it strike you that if he was going to consult The Prophet, that gentleman is located inside there?”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Hampton.
“Only a narrow eight-foot alleyway separates the two huts,” said Jack. “Suppose we placed the radio so that when Samba speaks his piece the voice will seem to come from The Prophet’s own hut? Wouldn’t that be pretty effective?”
“It certainly would, Jack,” said Mr. Ransome. “But how do you propose to do it?”
Before Jack could reply, there came an interruption from an unexpected quarter. The grass wall at the rear was parted, and between the bundles of thatch which closed again behind him entered none other than the wrinkled old medicine man calling himself the Wizard Mfum-ba. He looked from one to the other, then set his fingers to his lips, after which he spread out his hands as if in deprecation.
“I believe he wants the interpreter,” said Jack, quickest to grasp the meaning of the gesture. And stepping to the doorway of the hut, he summoned the interpreter from the group outside. The old wizard’s face showed relief at the fellow’s appearance, and drawing him close he began to whisper to him. Several times the interpreter started to speak, only to be interrupted, but at length with a nod of the head and a low-voiced assurance, he turned from the old medicine man to Mr. Ransome.