As he left the rose there, his eyes wandered slowly over this retreat of rest and sleep: white robe-de-nuit, blue silk canopy, blue slippers, blue dressing-gown—all blue, the colour in which he had first seen her.
Slowly he turned away at last and went to his own room. But the picture followed him. It kept shining in his eyes. Krool's face suddenly darkened it.
"You not ring, Baas," Krool said.
Without a word Rudyard waved him away, a sudden and unaccountable fury in his mind. Why did the sight of Krool vex him so?
"Come back," he said, angrily, before the door of the bedroom closed.
Krool returned.
"Weren't there any cables? Why didn't you come to Mr. Scovel's at midnight, as I told you?"
"Baas, I was there at midnight, but they all say you come home, Baas. There the cable—two." He pointed to the dressing-table.
Byng snatched them, tore them open, read them.
One had the single word, "Tomorrow." The other said, "Prepare." The code had been abandoned. Tragedy needs few words.