“What?” gasped he.
“Yessah, thank you please. One of those porters not a shenzi at all. He Desmont Bwana’s head boy Murad. Very bad man, sah. Master look in this spy-man’s chop-boxes. Germani uniform in one—under rice and posho. Master see. . . .”
“You’re a fool, Ali,” said Bertram.
“Yessah,” said Ali, “and Desmont Bwana a Germani spy-man. Master go an’ shoot him for dead while asleep—or tie him to tree till Mallery Bwana coming. . . .”
Now what was to be done? Here was a case for swift action by the “strong silent man” type of person who thought like lightning and acted like some more lightning.
If he did nothing and let the man go when he had rested, would his conduct be that of a fool and a weakling who could not act promptly and efficiently on information received—conduct deserving the strongest censure? . . .
And if he arrested and detained one of their own Intelligence Officers, on the word of a native servant, would he ever hear the last of it?
“Bwana come and catch this bad man Murad,” suggested Ali. “Bwana say, ‘Jambo, Murad ibn Mustapha! How much rupees Desmont Bwana paying you for spy-work?’ and Bwana see him jump! By damn, sah! Bwana hold revolver ready.” . . .
“Does the man know English then?” asked the perturbed and undecided Bertram.
“Yessah—all the same better as I do,” was the reply. “And he pretending to be poor shenzi porter. He knowing Germani too. . . .”