There was a dim light in the house devoted to Murray and his nephew; and as they reached the steps, the naturalist felt a pang of annoyance at not seeing Hamet start up and challenge them, for, as a rule, he was always in the veranda on the watch.
“It has been a long and weary day,” said Murray, with the depression from which he suffered affecting his voice. “Will you go on first?”
“No; you are the master; lead on.”
Murray stopped short.
“Look here,” he said. “Let the boys sleep. Stop here with me. I will soon make some coffee, and we will sit and smoke and talk.”
“No, no,” said Mr Braine, hastily.
“But it is hard indeed if we cannot hit out some plan before morning. There, go up quietly. You will stay?”
“No,” said Mr Braine, firmly. “You forget what was said when we came away. I must be at my own place in case Barnes wants me.”
“Yes, of course,” said Murray, quickly. “Then I will come back with you. One minute. Let me see if the boys are sleeping all right, and say a few words to Hamet.”
He sprang up the steps lightly, and entered the house, but no Hamet was there to challenge him, neither were the boys in the outer room stretched on the mats, as he expected to find them—asleep.