“ ‘I did. And I got up and looked.’ He took a gulp of tea; then he looked at me as if he were puzzled.
“ ‘There was no one there that I could see. Only something black that moved over the compound, about the size of a kitten.’
“ ‘He was probably just inside the jungle beyond the clearing,’ I said. ‘Heave half a brick at him if you hear it again.’
“We said no more, and I dismissed the matter from my mind. I was on the opposite side of the bungalow, and it would take more than a native playing on a pipe to keep me awake. But the following night the same thing happened—and the next, and the next.
“ ‘What sort of a noise is it?’ I asked him. ‘Surely to Heaven you’re sufficiently young and healthy not to be awakened by a bally fellow whistling?’
“ ‘It isn’t that that wakes me, Hugh,’ he answered slowly. ‘I wake before it starts. Each night about the same time I suddenly find myself wide awake—listening. Sometimes it’s ten minutes before it starts—sometimes almost at once; but it always comes. A faint, sweet whistle—three or four notes, going on and on—until I think I’ll go mad. It seems to be calling me.’
“ ‘But why the devil don’t you go and see what it is?’ I cried peevishly.
“ ‘Because’—and he stared at me with a shamefaced expression in his eyes—‘because I daren’t.’
“ ‘Rot!’ I said angrily. ‘Look here, young fellow, nerves are bad things anywhere—here they’re especially bad. You pull yourself together.’
“He flushed all over his face, and shut up like an oyster, which made me rather sorry I’d spoke so sharply. But one does hear funny noises in the jungle, and it doesn’t do to become fanciful.