The best thing to do was to see the district commissioner about it, thought the American, and with this thought he issued from the house and sought out Omar.
The latter was ready to start, as was his safari, and from somewhere the Arab had dug up an ancient Snider rifle and bandolier, which Hammer eyed with some disfavour. As he gave the order to march, however, a Kiswahili boy ran up with word that Bwana Somebody was coming, whereat all save Omar seemed to be affected with sudden fright.
The American got them into shape with much expenditure of Arabic, and as he did so became aware of a little party coming down the track—for the plantation of Solomon, being away from those of the East African Corporation, did not have the benefit of any road.
The party, as he saw at a glance, consisted of a very trim and spruce officer of police, a sergeant, and four men, and that they were coming here he had no doubt. So, bidding the natives wait, he advanced to meet them.
"Good afternoon," the officer responded curtly to his greeting. "Is there a Mr. Hammer anywhere about?"
"I am Mr. Hammer," replied the American, surprised. "Sure you want me!"
"Well, rather!" snapped out the other, curtly. "Sergeant, arrest this man."
Before the amazed Hammer knew what was happening there was a policeman on each side of him, and the officer's eye had lighted on Omar.
"Here, you! Have you a permit to carry that bunduki?"
The officer was somewhat taken aback when Omar, grinning, held out a folded paper and replied in English: