"Kindly bear in mind that I am conducting this examination, lieutenant."
The latter bit his lip and flushed. It was plain that he had no great love for his superior. The commissioner turned languidly to Hammer.
"Where is this Mr. Solomon?"
"Out in the jungle somewhere—search me. But he'll be in soon."
"Oh, very good! Lieutenant, you will see that he appears. Now, Hammer, what physician—er—attended you?"
"I don't know, but he was the same who signed Harcourt's death-certificate."
"Ah, Dr. Fargo—at present with the Juba at Mombasa. Very good. Well, Hammer, I can't see that you have any case whatever. Cheek, I call it. However, they can settle it at Nairobi, and be blessed. Lieutenant, put the prisoner in the——"
"Look here," Hammer broke out furiously, "I've had about enough of this farce, Mr. Smith! Now you bear in mind that I'm an American citizen. Also that I plead not guilty. You hand out what testimony you have against me or I'll make it hot for you in darned short order; and if I can't I'll bet a dollar John Solomon can!"
The commissioner gazed at him mildly, then shifted his look to his lieutenant. What he saw in the latter's face may have decided him, for with an air of boredom he shuffled the papers before him, fixed on the right one, and nodded.
"Very good. You are probably aware of the fact that according to the death certificate of Mr. Harcourt he died from a stab at the hands of persons unknown, complicated by fever.