Having given his men their orders, Tom entered the bungalow, clapped his hands for one of the servants, asked him if dinner was ready, and reminded him that Herr Reinecke always liked a drink as soon as he returned home.
"Take it to the dining-room," he said, "and one for me too."
He then went into the room Reinecke used as an office, opened a drawer in which there was usually kept a revolver, assured himself that it was loaded, and taking it to the dining-room, slipped it half underneath the edge of a wide fruit dish. The servant brought in two large tumblers of a claret-cup of Reinecke's invention. Tom drank his off, then sat down and helped himself to a confection of rice and fruit. But now that the critical moment was approaching he found himself without appetite. To steady his nerves he lit a cigarette, and changed his position slightly, so that he had a good view through the window of the approach to the bungalow.
Tom was smoking his fourth cigarette, and the brief twilight of Equatorial Africa was already half spent, when he heard the tramp of marching men, and saw the expected party filing into the grounds of the bungalow. First came two askaris, then Reinecke and a native N.C.O., then a number of porters with bales on their heads, finally a dozen askaris. Reinecke was in uniform--white helmet and tunic, khaki breeches, and leggings.
The number of askaris was greater than Tom had looked for. He noticed that the hand that held his cigarette was trembling a little, drew a long breath, and waited. The atmosphere seemed to be highly electric.
Reinecke ordered the askaris to halt and ground arms, the porters to lay down their loads. Then he called for Selim and Sergeant Morgenstein, who ought to have been awaiting him, and cursed them volubly in German. He shouted a few words in Bantu to the native corporal, and strode into the bungalow. He was evidently in a bad temper.
Turning into the dining-room he gasped and started back. Tom dropped his cigarette into the ash-tray, laid his hand near the butt of the revolver on the table, and, smiling grimly, said--
"No. I'm not a ghost, Herr Reinecke--nor a skeleton."
Reinecke, standing in the doorway, had quickly recovered himself.
"So!" he laughed. "But it is clear: you are a fool."