From the interior of the hut came a groan.
"Leave me alone. I have come here to die!" said a muffled voice.
"Come out and be civil," said Sanders coolly; "you can die afterwards."
After a few moments' delay there issued from the door of the hut the wreck of a man, with long hair and a month-old beard, who stood sulkily before the Commissioner.
"Might I ask," said Sanders, "what your little game is?"
The other shook his head wearily. He was a pitiable sight. His clothes were in tatters; he was unwashed and grimy.
"Sleeping sickness," he said wearily. "Felt it coming on—seen what horrible thing it was—didn't want to be a burden. Oh, my God! What a fool I've been to come to this filthy country!"
"That's very likely," said Sanders. "But who told you that you had sleeping sickness?"
"Know it—know it," said the listless man.
"Sit down," said Sanders. The other obeyed, and Sanders applied the superficial tests.