"It's harmless now, sir," answered Raymond. "It's still living but it can't move. The spine's broken, I think."
The Resident turned to his wife. The poor man had been in agony while she was in danger; but now that the peril had passed he could only express his relief in irritable scolding:
"How could you be so foolish, Violet?" he asked crossly. "The idea of going to sleep near the tank! Most unwise! You might have been eaten alive."
His wife smiled bitterly and glanced at the grumbling man with a contemptuous expression on her face.
"Yes, John, very inconsiderate of me, I daresay. But how was I to know that there was a mugger (crocodile) in the tank?"
Then for the first time she realised the nearness of the water.
"Good gracious! I thought I was much farther—how did I get so close to it? Did I slip down in my sleep?"
"No; there are the trees," said Raymond. "It's extraordinary. The whole tank seems to have shifted."
The Resident was mopping his bald scalp and lifted his hat to let the gusty wind cool his head. A sudden squall blew the big pith sun-helmet out of his hand. Wargrave caught it in the air and returned it to its owner.
"By Jove! it's a regular gale," he said. "I think I know what's happened. This wind's so strong that it's blown the water of the tank before it and actually shifted the whole mass thirty or forty yards this way."