Turning the man over, Jack tied his hands behind his back with his own belt, for the naked warrior had none which could be employed for that purpose. Then he seized him beneath the armpits and dragged him to the rear of the guest house, where, parting the thatch, he tumbled him inside. Running to the doorway, he pulled one of the bearers standing outside with his back turned, watching events in the square, within, and indicated he should keep guard over the bound man.
Then again he pushed through the thatched wall, saw by a hasty glance that Mfum-ba was alone, and, picking up the wire which had fallen down from the roof of The Prophet’s hut, he shinned back up the tree and connected it with the receiving set. Again he dropped to the ground and pulling Mfum-ba with him re-entered the guest house without discovery.
The bearer looked at him with lively curiosity, the bound warrior who had opened his eyes with the deepest respect mingled with fear, and Mfum-ba with stupefaction. But Jack wasn’t caring who stared at him, or how. He had never worked so fast nor so furiously in his life, nor ever under such an impulse of fear. Throwing himself flat on his back he lay with eyes closed, resting, until his father’s voice aroused him when, opening his eyes, he sat up.
“Where did this fellow come from, Jack? And did you manage it?” asked Mr. Hampton anxiously.
“I’ll say I did,” said Jack, and he explained what he had been through.
“What happened to you?” he asked. “Did things work out as planned?”
“Exactly as planned,” said Mr. Hampton, while Mr. Ransome and Niellsen who stood behind Mr. Hampton nodded.
Then he explained that when summoned to the square they had found Chief Namla already there, surrounded by a big crowd of his people. In fact, everybody in the place was on hand, made curious to hear what the chief’s answer to the white men’s strange request would be.
“The chief asked us to show him our machine, as Mfum-ba had prompted him,” continued Mr. Hampton. “So Niellsen set it up and let him look into the range-finder. When he saw reflected there every hut, distant volcano or warrior close at hand, at which Niellsen directed the camera, he was stupefied. That was what we had expected. And so we invited his chief men to step up and have a look. The crowd became more and more excited.
“Then we told the chief we had a communication from the Great Spirit of the white man to deliver.” He paused, glancing at Mr. Ransome. “I thought you did that rather well, Ransome,” he said, smiling. “Of course, I don’t know just what hash the interpreter made of your remarks. But at any rate, they got across.”