* * * * *
After two days on his camp-bed he was somewhat better, and on the next day he found himself in sole command of the Butindi outpost and a man of responsibility and pride. Urgent messages had taken Major Mallery with half the force in one direction, and Captain Wavell with half the remainder in another.
Suppose there should be an attack while he was in command! He half hoped there would be. . . .
Towards evening an alarm from a sentry and the turning out of the guard brought him running to the main gate, shouting “Stand-to!” as he ran.
Through his glasses he saw that a European and a small party of natives were approaching the boma. . . .
The new-comer was an Englishman of the name of Desmont, in the Intelligence Department, who had just made a long and dangerous tour through the neighbouring parts of German East in search of information. Apparently Butindi was the first British outpost that he had struck, as he asked endless questions about others—apparently with a view to visiting them en route to the Base Camp. Bertram extended to him such hospitality as Butindi could afford, and gave him all the help and information in his power. He had a very strong conviction that the man was disguised (whether his huge beard was false or not), but he supposed that it was very natural in the case of an Intelligence Department spy, scout, or secret agent. Anyhow, he was most obviously English. . . .
While he sat in the Officers’ Mess and talked with the man—a most interesting conversation—Ali Suleiman entered with coco-nuts and a rum-jar. Seeing the stranger, he instantly wheeled about and retired, sending another servant in with the drinks. . . .
After a high-tea of coco-nut, biscuit, bully-beef, and roasted mealie-cobs, Desmont, who looked worn out, asked if he might lie down for a few hours before he “moved off” again. Bertram at once took him to his own banda and bade him make himself at home. Five minutes later came Ali with an air of mystery to where Bertram paced up and down the “High Street,” and asked if he might speak with him.
“That man a Germani, sah!” quoth he. “Spy-man he is. Debbil-man. His own name not Desmont Bwana, and he is big man in Dar-es-Salaam and Tabora, and knowing all the big Germani bwanas. I was his gun-boy and I go with him to Germani East. . . . Bwana go and shoot him for dead, sah, by damn!”
Bertram sat down heavily on a chop-box.