He tried the study door but it was locked and there was no response to his knocks and his rattling of the handle.
"Jakes," he called, several times. "I say, you 're wanted. Jakes, d'you hear me?"
Kamis and the trooper watched him in silence, the latter with his bold, unhappy features set into something like a sneer. They saw him test the strength of the lock with a knee; it gave no sign of weakness and he stood considering on the mat. An idea came to him and he went briskly, with his long stride, to the front door.
"I say," called the Kafir as he went by.
Ford paused. "Well?"
"In case you can't rouse him," said the Kafir, "you might like to know that I am a doctor—M.B., London."
"Are you?" said Ford thoughtfully. "You're Kamis, are n't you?"
"Yes," answered the Kafir.
"I 'll let you know if there 's anything you can do,", said Ford.
The contrast between the Kafir's pleasant, English voice and his negro face was strange to him also. But stranger yet, he could not in the presence of the contemptuous policeman speak the thing that was in his mind and tell the Kafir that he was to blame for the whole business. The voice, the address, the manner of the man were those of his own class; it would have been like quarreling before servants.