He leaned forward in his chair, listening intently. He heard his victim's gasp, the mutter of the crowd. They passed him by. Then he sank back, a half smile on his lips. He had caught the rustle of silks, the indignant breathing of a woman. He knew that Bibi-ya-chui stood before him.
"But this is atrocious!" she cried. "This cannot go on!"
"It shall go on," he replied steadily. "Why not?"
"He is my man. I forbid it!"
"He is my man to punish when he attempts my life."
"I shall prevent this--this--oh, this outrage!"
"How?" he asked calmly.
She turned to the men and began to talk to them in Swahili, repeating emphatically what she had just said to Kingozi in English, uttering her commands. They were received in a dead silence.
"You have heard the memsahib speak, you men of the memsahib's safari," remarked Kingozi; then: "You, Jack, whom I made chief of askaris, you speak."
"What does the bwana say of this?" came Jack's deep voice after a moment.