“Don't say it, don't say it,” McTavish cried in a tense voice.
“Yes, I ate it, plenty of it, a whole plateful!” Bertie cried explosively, like a diver suddenly regaining breath.
The awful silence continued half a minute longer, and he read his fate in their eyes.
“Maybe it wasn't poison after all,” said Harriwell, dismally.
“Call in the cook,” said Brown.
In came the cook, a grinning black boy, nose-spiked and ear-plugged.
“Here, you, Wi-wi, what name that?” Harriwell bellowed, pointing accusingly at the omelet.
Wi-wi was very naturally frightened and embarrassed.
“Him good fella kai-kai,” he murmured apologetically.
“Make him eat it,” suggested McTavish. “That's a proper test.”