After awhile I lay down again, but I could sleep no more. The cries had been so real they haunted me. I considered the matter of going over to Maurice to see if all was well with the kitten. I had never entered his hut, only looked in the door daily, to see that it was kept clean by his boy. What excuse had I to knock at his door in the middle of the night? He would probably, and with every reason, be very indignant at being waked up. Nevertheless, I presently found myself on the floor groping for my slippers and feeling for my cloak.
When I opened the door a wild blast tore in, lifting my cloak to the roof, and in a moment the front of my night-gown was like a wet rag, and my body streaming with wet. It was no use attempting to take a light. I stumbled among the trees, in the thick darkness; blinding lightning flickered across my eyeballs like liquid fire, but it showed the way, and at last I reached the door I knew to be Maurice’s and battered on it. Silence!
“Maurice! Maurice!”
Silence again. Nothing but the flacking rain and pealing thunder. Within, all was darkness and silence; evidently Maurice was fast asleep, and Snowie too. My worry had been about nothing. How foolish to be so disturbed by a dream, I thought, as I beat my way back, and once more sought my bed. Still, I was glad I had gone and set my mind at rest.
By one of those extraordinary lapses of memory that sometimes occur, I woke in the morning with no recollection of the night’s adventure. I had slept it all away. The only thought in my mind as I jumped out of bed was that if I did not make double-quick time Maurice would be at the breakfast table before me, a thing I never allowed to happen since he had taken to rising for breakfast. I flew through my dressing, and was still five minutes to the good when I ran across the yard in the morning air of a world washed, and fresh, and glittering like crystal.
To my astonishment Maurice was not only at the table, but had finished his breakfast.
“But why so early?” I cried in surprise.
“I had a message from Ringe to say that he wants me at the court early.”
As he finished speaking Mango entered to say that Sergeant Locke was outside, wanting to speak to the master. Maurice rose hastily, putting his serviette to his lips, and as he did so I saw upon the back of his right hand three long deep scratches. In an instant he had whipped his hand into his pocket. He gave me a searching glance which I noticed but vaguely, for at that moment the whole of my last night’s dream and adventure in the rain had come flashing back, brought to memory by the sight of those deep new scratches on the back of his hand. While I sat thinking I heard Sergeant Locke’s voice saying:
“Major Ringe went off at four this morning, sir, with Mr Malcolm—they got news last night of a lion out at Intanga. As they rode by the camp the Major called me up to ask you to see about Masefield’s boy at the court this morning. It is the only case there is.”