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Authors: Elspeth Huxley
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morning.”
“Where was Lord Baradale? Did you see him?”
71
Paula seemed relieved when the questioning
took another turn. “He was right here in camp, I guess. Why don’t you ask him where he was?”
De Mare, still pacing up and down, paid no
attention to her remark. He looked across at
Vachell. “We’d better get this job over,” he said.
“The rest of you will stay here until we’ve
finished. I’ll tell a boy to bring tea.”
He led the way through the open flap and across the grass to Lady Baradale’s tent. The dead
woman’s remains had been collected in a sack and carried there, after much protest, by two reluctant natives. The others waited in uneasy silence in the stuffy messtent, trying to keep their imaginations from playing with the scene they knew was taking place.
“My God, this is awful,” Gordon Catchpole said at last. “I shall never forgive myself, never. I shouldn’t have killed that magnificent beast, leaving his mate to avenge him with poor Lucy’s blood… . Though I must say, I don’t think Danny ought to have left Lucy all alone in camp.
After all, he’s paid to profecrus.”
“He couldn’t protect her and get you a lion at the same time, could he?” Chris asked acidly.
“He didn’t get me a lion,” Catchpole said, “I got it for myself. I do really feel that he’s rather to blame. Chris, when do you think Cara will be
back? There’s something so strong and comforting about her.”
Chris walked to the tent opening and looked out 72
over the white sand and the blue river to the line of the veldt beyond. An immense, formless bank of violet and indigo cloud was massed over the flat horizon, vivid and heavy. The hills to the right looked dark and menacing, and every thorn tree was sharply defined.
“There’s a terrific storm going on towards
Malabeya,” she said. “I’m not sure that Cara will get back tonight.”
“Oh, dear, this is too ghastly,” Catchpole
wailed. “I wish I’d never come to this awful country.”
Chris stepped back to make way for Geydi, tall and impressive in his turban and silk robe,
carrying the tea things on a tray. She poured out tea and they sat for a while, awkward and depressed, in a silence broken only by the clinking of
cups and saucers.
Five minutes later they heard a step outside and then Vachell’s tall, lanky form appeared in the opening. He stooped a little and came in, looking serious and taking nervous puffs at a cigarette. He halted in front of the table and glanced quickly at each face in turn.
“De Mare is talking with Lord Baradale,” he
said. “He’ll be out in a moment. We found out how Lady Baradale died.” He paused for a
moment, the focus of four unwinking pairs of
eyes. “She was shot through the head.’
╗
73
CHAPTER
EIGHT
For a moment no one spoke. Then Catchpole
pulled himself half out of his chair and shouted: “That isn’t possible! She was found quite close to us Ч we should have heard the shot!”
“She was shot through the forehead,” Vachell
went on, “and from the front. It isn’t suicide, because there’s no weapon near. The bullet must have killed her outright.”
Paula gave a gasping cry and started to sob.
Chris put one hand on the girl’s arm, but her eyes never left Vachell’s face.
“Did you find the bullet?” she asked.
Vachell shook his head. “No. It came out at the back of the head Ч drilled a neat round hole clear through the skull. She wouldn’t have suffered any.”
“There wasn’t a rifle in the car,” Rutley
exclaimed. “Ask any of the boys, they’ll tell you.”
He was standing near the opening, breathing hard.
“Who said there was a rifle in the car?” Vachell 74
asked.
“No one. But you all think — ” he checked
himself abruptly and stood there, glowering like an angry bull.
Catchpole stood up suddenly, jerking the table so that the tea slopped over into the saucers.
“There’s only one explanation!” he
“Where was Lord Baradale? Did you see him?”
71
Paula seemed relieved when the questioning
took another turn. “He was right here in camp, I guess. Why don’t you ask him where he was?”
De Mare, still pacing up and down, paid no
attention to her remark. He looked across at
Vachell. “We’d better get this job over,” he said.
“The rest of you will stay here until we’ve
finished. I’ll tell a boy to bring tea.”
He led the way through the open flap and across the grass to Lady Baradale’s tent. The dead
woman’s remains had been collected in a sack and carried there, after much protest, by two reluctant natives. The others waited in uneasy silence in the stuffy messtent, trying to keep their imaginations from playing with the scene they knew was taking place.
“My God, this is awful,” Gordon Catchpole said at last. “I shall never forgive myself, never. I shouldn’t have killed that magnificent beast, leaving his mate to avenge him with poor Lucy’s blood… . Though I must say, I don’t think Danny ought to have left Lucy all alone in camp.
After all, he’s paid to profecrus.”
“He couldn’t protect her and get you a lion at the same time, could he?” Chris asked acidly.
“He didn’t get me a lion,” Catchpole said, “I got it for myself. I do really feel that he’s rather to blame. Chris, when do you think Cara will be
back? There’s something so strong and comforting about her.”
Chris walked to the tent opening and looked out 72
over the white sand and the blue river to the line of the veldt beyond. An immense, formless bank of violet and indigo cloud was massed over the flat horizon, vivid and heavy. The hills to the right looked dark and menacing, and every thorn tree was sharply defined.
“There’s a terrific storm going on towards
Malabeya,” she said. “I’m not sure that Cara will get back tonight.”
“Oh, dear, this is too ghastly,” Catchpole
wailed. “I wish I’d never come to this awful country.”
Chris stepped back to make way for Geydi, tall and impressive in his turban and silk robe,
carrying the tea things on a tray. She poured out tea and they sat for a while, awkward and depressed, in a silence broken only by the clinking of
cups and saucers.
Five minutes later they heard a step outside and then Vachell’s tall, lanky form appeared in the opening. He stooped a little and came in, looking serious and taking nervous puffs at a cigarette. He halted in front of the table and glanced quickly at each face in turn.
“De Mare is talking with Lord Baradale,” he
said. “He’ll be out in a moment. We found out how Lady Baradale died.” He paused for a
moment, the focus of four unwinking pairs of
eyes. “She was shot through the head.’
╗
73
CHAPTER
EIGHT
For a moment no one spoke. Then Catchpole
pulled himself half out of his chair and shouted: “That isn’t possible! She was found quite close to us Ч we should have heard the shot!”
“She was shot through the forehead,” Vachell
went on, “and from the front. It isn’t suicide, because there’s no weapon near. The bullet must have killed her outright.”
Paula gave a gasping cry and started to sob.
Chris put one hand on the girl’s arm, but her eyes never left Vachell’s face.
“Did you find the bullet?” she asked.
Vachell shook his head. “No. It came out at the back of the head Ч drilled a neat round hole clear through the skull. She wouldn’t have suffered any.”
“There wasn’t a rifle in the car,” Rutley
exclaimed. “Ask any of the boys, they’ll tell you.”
He was standing near the opening, breathing hard.
“Who said there was a rifle in the car?” Vachell 74
asked.
“No one. But you all think — ” he checked
himself abruptly and stood there, glowering like an angry bull.
Catchpole stood up suddenly, jerking the table so that the tea slopped over into the saucers.
“There’s only one explanation!” he
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