"Bring here the magic bone. The bwana wishes to look at it. No; it is all right. I myself tell you; no harm can come."
Reluctantly Simba produced the bone, now fittingly wrapped in clean mericani cloth, and still more reluctantly undid it and handed it to Winkleman. The latter seized it and began minutely to examine it, muttering short, disconnected sentences to himself in German.
"Now here is what I have said," he spoke aloud. "See. By this curve----"
He broke off, staring curiously into Kingozi's face. The latter sat apparently looking out across the hills, paying no attention to the fact that Winkleman had thrust the bone fairly under his nose. The pause that ensued became noticeable. Kingozi stirred uneasily, turning his eyes in the direction of the scientist.
"Glaucoma!" ejaculated Winkleman.
Kingozi smiled wearily.
"Yes. I wondered when you would find it out."
"You are all blind?"
"I can distinguish light." Kingozi straightened his back, and his voice became incisive. "But I can still see through eyes that are faithful to me! Make no mistakes there."
"My dear friend; have I not given my parole?" gently asked the Bavarian.