“They’ve all been occupied recently,” Lieutenant Tupper declared, “and they are not of native design. Some white man’s hand has guided them in their construction, that is evident.”
The “Sitka” had entered between the reefs and dropped anchor in deep water within a half mile of the shore.
Lieutenant Tupper with several officers, and among them the midshipmen, approached the plantation house. They saw many black boys, Solomon Islanders, working about the place, but not a white man or a Kapuan was visible.
Klinger finally appeared. Phil saw that he was pale and looked worried.
“Where are the Kataafa men?” the lieutenant asked brusquely. “I see you’ve been feeding and sheltering them,” he added insinuatingly, “and doubtless are now concealing their whereabouts.”
“I do not know,” Klinger replied stubbornly. “I cannot help it if they take my fruit. I have no sailors to protect my property.”
“I’ve a good mind to take you back with us,” the lieutenant said angrily. “You and that count are advising these natives to fight us. Who else is in the house?” Tupper asked, advancing upon the porch.
Klinger held his ground.
“There are no others here,” he replied. “You are welcome to search the house if you desire, but I warn you this is Herzovinian property, and you must answer for all insults.”
“I’d like to see you strung to a yard-arm,” Lieutenant Tupper exclaimed, angrier than ever at the man’s cool effrontery.