"He's been sick all day," she ventured.
"Sick, eh? Have you had him about you all evening?"
The Leopard Woman hesitated the least appreciable portion of a second.
"No," she answered, "he was sick; I let him sleep in his own camp."
She withdrew a pace, almost as though washing her hands of the affair. Kingozi whirled and levelled his forefinger at the Nubian.
"Why did you use a shenzi spear?" he demanded.
Over Chaké's face had come the blank, lifeless expression of the obstinate savage. Kingozi recognized it, and knew that further interrogation was a matter of much time and patience. His eyes and head ached cruelly.
"Very well," he answered the Nubian's unspoken opposition. "You'll keep. Simba, get me the hand irons and the leg irons. Guard this man. To-morrow we will look into it." He turned away without waiting to see his commands carried out. "I've got a beastly headache," he remarked to Bibi-ya-chui. "This affair--this whole affair--will keep. Cazi Moto, I want two men with guns--my men--to stand by my tent, one in front, one in the rear."
The Leopard Woman watched his drooping, wearied form making its way to his tent. He walked shuffling, almost stumbling. The habitual masking stare of her eyes changed. Something softer, almost yearning, crept into them. When the tent flaps had fallen behind him she threw both arms aloft in a splendid tragic gesture, careless of the staring men. Her face was convulsed by strong emotion. She turned and fled to her own tent, where she threw herself face down on her cot.
"It must be done! It must be done!" she groaned to her pillow.