said:
“I guess it irritates them so they get mad and take it out in beating around the bush. What you want to know is: did Karl Munson make a pass at me and if so what did I do about it, and what attitude did Dennis take up?”
Vachell drew a deep breath and said: “Thanks a lot. You ask all the questions while I sit back and make a note of the replies.”
“There isn’t much to say.” Her voice was without warmth. She spoke a little briskly, as if she was reciting a lesson she had rehearsed before. “Karl Munson was well, the Victorians had a word for it: he pursued me with his attentions. You saw him not an attractive man. I was afraid that if I just walked out on him and left him cold it would make him so mad he’d jump the tracks. You know, he was a dangerous man. He hated Dennis anyway, but he didn’t do anything about it because of me. I was scared he might let everything go if he got mad with me as well. So I stayed friendly, and all the time I had to stall. It wasn’t very amusing, and I can’t pretend I don’t thank God it’s all over now.”
“Thanks,” Vachell said. “Did you often meet him alone, without other folks knowing, and where were meetings like that held?”
Janice smiled, but only with her lips; her eyes had gone hard as stones.
“If I had, I shouldn’t tell you,” she said. “But I didn’t, because I didn’t care for Munson and had 104
no wish to see him alone. Do you expect women to give truthful answers to questions like that?”
“No,” Vachell said. “No, I’m not that dumb. But I have to ask them, so the Commissioner can read about it and see how hard I work for my pay. Do you happen to know if Munson’s wife was wise to the…”
West’s step sounded on the veranda and he came in, walking heavily, three setters at his heels. He put down the lamp, and its light gleamed blackly on the barrel of a shotgun that he held in his other hand.
Vachell looked at Janice and saw her dark eyes widen a little as she caught sight of the gun. She put one hand, small and brown, up to her throat, and there was fear in her look.
“What are you going to do with that gun?” she asked.
“Use it,” he said shortly, “if anything comes.”
The moon was up behind the forest by the time they went to bed, silvering tree-trunks and grass, making bushes look like silent crouching monsters whispering among themselves. The night was full of subdued soft noises, shaken now and again by the shrill, drawn-out scream of a hyrax from the forest, one of the company of small furry tree-conies that hid from daylight down the snug hollows of trees. There was a sharp bite in the air, and a smell of dew, and a sort of expectancy that made Vachell sleepless and ill at ease.
He stood for a little by the open window, smoking 105
a last cigarette and staring out over the grey lawn into the blackness of bush and valley beyond. A circle of lights, twinkling like stars far below him, marked the outline of Karuna, but nowhere else was there sight or sound of the works of man. The sky was heavy with stars; the hills and plains of Africa lay in unbroken expanse around him. He felt oppressed by the vastness of his surroundings, the weakness of man. His cigarette stub, flicked out of the window, glowed for a moment on the grass and vanished from sight. Restless, somehow apprehensive, he slipped his revolver into a pocket and stepped out on to the lawn, closing the door softly behind him. Bullseye snuffled as the barrier closed in her face and whined once or twice, but then accepted the inevitable and padded back to her basket.
The police askari was again on guard. Vachell exchanged a few words with him and strolled along the path to Munson’s farm. It wound through a big paddock, among scattered native trees whose twisted branches formed curious tortured shapes, and past clumps of bush that were rustling with hidden life.
Once Vachell heard the sharp, startled whistle of an invisible reedbuck,
“I guess it irritates them so they get mad and take it out in beating around the bush. What you want to know is: did Karl Munson make a pass at me and if so what did I do about it, and what attitude did Dennis take up?”
Vachell drew a deep breath and said: “Thanks a lot. You ask all the questions while I sit back and make a note of the replies.”
“There isn’t much to say.” Her voice was without warmth. She spoke a little briskly, as if she was reciting a lesson she had rehearsed before. “Karl Munson was well, the Victorians had a word for it: he pursued me with his attentions. You saw him not an attractive man. I was afraid that if I just walked out on him and left him cold it would make him so mad he’d jump the tracks. You know, he was a dangerous man. He hated Dennis anyway, but he didn’t do anything about it because of me. I was scared he might let everything go if he got mad with me as well. So I stayed friendly, and all the time I had to stall. It wasn’t very amusing, and I can’t pretend I don’t thank God it’s all over now.”
“Thanks,” Vachell said. “Did you often meet him alone, without other folks knowing, and where were meetings like that held?”
Janice smiled, but only with her lips; her eyes had gone hard as stones.
“If I had, I shouldn’t tell you,” she said. “But I didn’t, because I didn’t care for Munson and had 104
no wish to see him alone. Do you expect women to give truthful answers to questions like that?”
“No,” Vachell said. “No, I’m not that dumb. But I have to ask them, so the Commissioner can read about it and see how hard I work for my pay. Do you happen to know if Munson’s wife was wise to the…”
West’s step sounded on the veranda and he came in, walking heavily, three setters at his heels. He put down the lamp, and its light gleamed blackly on the barrel of a shotgun that he held in his other hand.
Vachell looked at Janice and saw her dark eyes widen a little as she caught sight of the gun. She put one hand, small and brown, up to her throat, and there was fear in her look.
“What are you going to do with that gun?” she asked.
“Use it,” he said shortly, “if anything comes.”
The moon was up behind the forest by the time they went to bed, silvering tree-trunks and grass, making bushes look like silent crouching monsters whispering among themselves. The night was full of subdued soft noises, shaken now and again by the shrill, drawn-out scream of a hyrax from the forest, one of the company of small furry tree-conies that hid from daylight down the snug hollows of trees. There was a sharp bite in the air, and a smell of dew, and a sort of expectancy that made Vachell sleepless and ill at ease.
He stood for a little by the open window, smoking 105
a last cigarette and staring out over the grey lawn into the blackness of bush and valley beyond. A circle of lights, twinkling like stars far below him, marked the outline of Karuna, but nowhere else was there sight or sound of the works of man. The sky was heavy with stars; the hills and plains of Africa lay in unbroken expanse around him. He felt oppressed by the vastness of his surroundings, the weakness of man. His cigarette stub, flicked out of the window, glowed for a moment on the grass and vanished from sight. Restless, somehow apprehensive, he slipped his revolver into a pocket and stepped out on to the lawn, closing the door softly behind him. Bullseye snuffled as the barrier closed in her face and whined once or twice, but then accepted the inevitable and padded back to her basket.
The police askari was again on guard. Vachell exchanged a few words with him and strolled along the path to Munson’s farm. It wound through a big paddock, among scattered native trees whose twisted branches formed curious tortured shapes, and past clumps of bush that were rustling with hidden life.
Once Vachell heard the sharp, startled whistle of an invisible reedbuck,
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