"Not much--only curious," replied Fortescue, who had met the non-com. before on several occasions. "We'll impshie--hook it, you know--when they clear the court."
Listening, the three chums could hear the stern tones of the Major and the bass voice of the interpreter, for several of the South Africans spoke nothing but Taal--a dialect comprised largely of Dutch, with a sprinkling of Zulu and Kaffir words.
"That's our man," whispered Malcolm.
"The blighter's yapping in Dutch," announced Fortescue, "and he can speak English perfectly. Hallo!"
A torrent of words, plainly indicating indignant denials, wafted through the closed door. Several of the Afrikanders were speaking at once. A revolver-shot rang out, a sharp exclamation of pain, and then a tremendous scuffling.
"Come on, boys!" ordered the Sergeant, addressing the men of the escort waiting without.
The door was thrown open. The Tommies rushed in, while at their heels came Fortescue, Selwyn, and Carr. Their resolution to remain passive and unseen witnesses had vanished into thin air.
Within all was confusion. The Major lay with his head and shoulders resting upon the table. Two of the other officers were endeavouring to stanch the blood that flowed from his forehead. In one corner of the room a crowd of Afrikanders swayed in a compact mass, as if eager to wreak their vengeance on someone, while held like a rat in the jaws of a terrier was the man from Muizenberg, his captor being Jan van Eindhovengen.
"Give him to us, Jan!" shouted a dozen angry voices. "We know what to do with the rogue."
With difficulty the furious Afrikanders were calmed. The spy, his features pale with terror, was removed under a strong guard, while the wounded officer was carried to the sick quarters.