The other boys seemed to be observing me closely, but when I returned their searching gaze they dropped their mysterious dark eyes to the ground, after the manner of kaffirs. None of them had seen Snowie since the evening before, when I had crossed to the drawing-room with her on my shoulder, after dinner.
Maurice came home very gay and hungry to lunch. He had easily disposed of the one case, he said; but he and Clarke, the magistrate’s clerk, had had a great morning hunting a wild-cat that had taken refuge under the courthouse, and refused to budge. It was imperative to get her as she had been after Clarke’s canaries.
“At last we smoked her out,” he related, “and she came for me like a red-hot devil. If I hadn’t put up my hand she’d have had my eyes out. Look what she did to me.”
He held out for my inspection the hand with the long deep scratch I had seen at the breakfast table! I stared at it speechless. He withdrew it and proceeded with his lunch. Presently he related to me several bits of news he had heard in town that morning. He was, for him, extraordinarily talkative.
“And who do you think have just arrived here?—the Valettas. They’ve taken that big thatched place that Nathan, of the Royal Hotel, has just put up. Mrs Valetta is very sick—fever and complications—never been right since Fort George, Valetta says. He’s brought her here from their mine, to get some good nursing before he can take her home.”
I was silent as the dead.
“Valetta has struck it rich somewhere to the north of Buluwayo, and is going home to float a company as soon as his wife is well.”
“Maurice, Snowie cannot be found. We have searched everywhere for her.”
He put down his coffee cup.