The English people walked a few steps back into the darkness, united and happy. Thanks to their youth and upbringing, they were not upset by the accident. They traced back the writhing of the tyres to the source of their disturbance. It was just after the exit from a bridge; the animal had probably come up out of the nullah. Steady and smooth ran the marks of the car, ribbons neatly nicked with lozenges, then all went mad. Certainly some external force had impinged, but the road had been used by too many objects for any one track to be legible, and the torch created such high lights and black shadows that they could not interpret what it revealed. Moreover, Adela in her excitement knelt and swept her skirts about, until it was she if anyone who appeared to have attacked the car. The incident was a great relief to them both. They forgot their abortive personal relationship, and felt adventurous as they muddled about in the dust.
“I believe it was a buffalo,” she called to their host, who had not accompanied them.
“Exactly.”
“Unless it was a hyena.”
Ronny approved this last conjecture. Hyenas prowl in nullahs and headlights dazzle them.
“Excellent, a hyena,” said the Indian with an angry irony and a gesture at the night. “Mr. Harris!”
“Half a mo-ment. Give me ten minutes’ time.”
“Sahib says hyena.”
“Don’t worry Mr. Harris. He saved us from a nasty smash. Harris, well done!”
“A smash, sahib, that would not have taken place had he obeyed and taken us Gangavati side, instead of Marabar.”