The man submitted in stolid silence while Nick examined the arm. When it was bound up, he said “Thank you!” in English. That was all, except that he looked rather curiously at the barbed head of the spear which lay in the boat where it had fallen.
The detective picked up the spear and made a close examination of the barbed point.
“No poison, I should say,” he remarked briefly. “If there were any, it would show in a sort of sticky glaze. Still, the antiseptic salve I’ve put into that gash on the arm won’t do any harm. Besides, it will help to close the wound quickly.”
The patient went back to his seat, and Nick glanced at Jefferson Arnold, who was speaking to Adil, as the young man lay, still nearly exhausted, on a blanket under the awning.
“What does he say, Mr. Arnold?” asked Nick.
“He has told me something about my boy,” answered Arnold, in shaky tones. “Carter, we’re going to catch up with him soon.”
“One day’s journey,” put in Adil, in a feeble voice.
“Who are those fellows who had you, Adil? And how did you come to be where you are?” asked Jefferson Arnold.
“We came to them farther up the country. Sahib Leslie wanted to hunt tigers, and he told me to be ready. I did what I was told.”
“Who else was with my son?”