At four o'clock Mboda returned with the news that an hour before they had seen a large Arab force halt at a spot about a mile to the west of the village, and make preparations for camping. It had but just arrived, coming from the setting sun. Tired as he was, Tom saw that his best course now was to make a reconnaissance in person and discover for himself what was in the wind.
He had had nearly three hours' rest during the absence of the scouts, but no food except a few bananas, for he would not allow the men to light fires for cooking. Feeling stiff and sore and hungry, he started alone, and made a long circuit round the eastern and southern sides of the village, being careful not to approach too close to it, and ever on the alert to avoid any natives who might be in the neighbourhood. He walked as quickly as he could, so as to come within sight of the Arab encampment before dark. After a tramp of nearly six miles, the last two of which had been a gradual ascent, he found himself, on emerging from a clump of bush, within a mile of the camp, which had been placed very conveniently in a slight hollow. Even at this distance he could see that it was a regular encampment and not a mere halting-place, and he threw himself down behind a bush, and with his head propped on his arms surveyed the scene.
"There's a plot, that's pretty certain," his thoughts ran. "The question is, are these men outside the village concerned in the plot which sent eight hundred of the garrison on a wild-goose chase to the volcano? If so, their only aim must surely be the capture of the village. Then why don't they attack? It's a big camp; there must be a big crowd of Arabs there, and Msala has only about two hundred fighting-men to defend that enormous circumference. They must know that, if they're in the plot. And there's always the chance that the eight hundred will come back. Perhaps the Arabs are tired out with their day's march, and want time to recuperate. Or are they going to make a night attack? Last time they attacked at dawn, their usual custom. I wonder if they've taken a leaf out of my book, and think that as I routed them at night, they'll turn the tables and storm the village under cover of darkness? One thing is clear: they expect to have to fight, or they'd have marched straight in, and that they haven't is a proof that I was right in believing the katikiro to be loyal. Now, what's my next move? I should dearly like to see a little more closely into their camp; how can I manage it?"