“Shall we wait?” Phil asked nervously. This part of the ordeal was trying for the midshipman.
“I guess we must,” Sydney replied. “We shall have to explain how it happened.”
Phil frowned. “I’m not going to reveal the identity of that native boy. Maybe Klinger did not recognize him.”
The manager had been carried into his own room, while Fanua, his native wife, hovered over him anxiously. She gazed in open distrust upon the two officers.
“Here comes the little doctor,” Sydney exclaimed in relief, as the same fat, middle-aged man that had before restored the injured Klinger after his earlier encounter with Phil pushed his way through the crowd of inquisitive natives, and entered the room.
Klinger had opened his eyes. The pain in his throat made him cry out weakly.
The doctor examined the injured man’s neck in silence.
“A black boy run ‘amuck’[37]?” he asked after he had finished the examination. “It looks as if a whole gang had risen against him.”
Klinger tried to speak, but his voice failed.
“We’ll leave now,” Phil returned. His nerves were under tension. He felt no sympathy for Klinger, yet wished to avoid a disagreeable scene with the injured man. “I shall be ready to give my story whenever it is asked for. Good-day, sir.”