This much had been explained to the boys by Wimba’s assistant, an intelligent young Kikuyu named Matse. But the latter’s command of English was not much to lean upon, and he could not inform the boys of every point in the case. From him, however, they had learned enough to realize that Wimba was drawing near the end of his defense, and that the prosecution had the better of it. The pile of sticks on the right was larger.
“If only Dad was here,” groaned Jack, in a whisper.
But Mr. Hampton, together with Oscar Niellsen, their cameraman, was off on an expedition to photograph wild animals at a water hole many miles away.
Frank squirmed at his companion’s side. “Jack, I’ve got an idea. It’s a long chance, but it may work.”
“What is it?”
For a minute or two Frank whispered in Jack’s ear, and the latter’s face lighted up.
“What do you think of it?” asked Frank, in conclusion, drawing back. “Will it work?”
“We’ll chance it,” whispered Jack, in reply, nodding. “But you’ll have to be quick. Now scud away with Matse and leave me to do my part.” Without further waste of words or time, Frank drawing the young Kikuyu interpreter after him drew back amongst the grass-thatched huts of the Kikuyu village fringing the council square.
His departure was unnoticed by the big crowd of tribesfolk gathered in a circle, and hanging upon the progress of the trial.
The minutes passed and with the passage of each one Jack grew more anxious. But presently Frank again slipped into position beside him.