'Changalilo, there are some cartridges missing.' The native was silent.
'How many cartridges were there for Bwana Dick's gun?'
'Two, Mama.'
'There's only one now.'
With deference Changalilo reminded her that one had been fired the night the Bwana had shot the eland, the night that Bwana Dick-i...
'Are you sure one was fired then?' said Archie slowly and as if he dreaded the answer.
Changalilo was emphatic, and added that he had cleaned the fouled gun, when the Mama had brought it back to camp.
Norah dismissed the native. 'Do you believe me now?' she asked. Archie sank back into his chair with his head between his hands.
'I saw Dick,' she said, putting every ounce of her will into her speech, 'pick up his rifle and fire at you from his hip. He missed you and you killed him before he could fire the second shot. Is that murder?'
There was a long pause. The drumming and singing burst out again. Men's voices singing, I judged, a song of war. They had thrown dried grass on to their fire, lighting the underside of the trees into pale silver. The shadows of the invisible dancers leapt and flapped like fantastic birds.