It’s a funny thing about the rich,” de Mare mused. “We all pretend to despise them, and the 108
only way we can escape from them is to become one of them ourselves. Englebrecht’s the only member of this outfit who’s got the right idea… .
What is it, Japhet?”
The gun-bearer stood at attention in the tent opening, his thickskinned black face immobile and his body rigid. He had come to make his
evening report. It was a habit he had carried over from a period of his life when, as a police askari, he had accompanied district officers on their tours. De Mare nodded and he recited in a chant: “News of the camp, bwana. I have counted here 8 Europeans, 36 black men, 18 motor-cars, 10
tents for Europeans, 9 tents for black men, 24
cases of petrol, two tents full of stores, one aeroplane, 16 guns, 26 bags of maize flour, 17 bags of
rice, and 18 aides.”
De Mare frowned and glanced up at the askari, standing in the opening as solidly as a chunk of basalt rock.
“How many guns?” he asked
“Sixteen, including three for birds. That is two fewer than before. Bwana Luke took three away, but this new bwana brought two more.”
“One is missing, then?”
“One belonging to bwana Lordi. Douglas, the
gun-bearer who looks after bwana Lordi, does not know where it has gone. There are three guns
belonging to bwana Lordi. Douglas cleaned them all two days ago, but he did not touch them today since the bwana did not use any of them. To109
night, when he went to make the tally, one was gone from bwana Lordi’s tent.”
“Just a moment.” Vachell said. “Who keeps the cleaning materials belonging to all of the guns in camp?”
“The gun-bearers do,” de Mare replied. “Japhet here looks after mine. Englebrecht has his own boy. The Baradales share a bearer called Douglas.
Catchpole has one called Suya, and Cara has a fellow named Harrison. Chris looks after her own weapons.”
“Could one of the Europeans clean his own gun without the bearers knowing?”
De Mare shook his head. “He’d have to ask the bearers for the materials,” he said, “unless of course he’d kept a pull-through or a ramrod and some oil concealed somewhere on purpose.”
Vachell spoke direct to Japhet. “Which guns
were used today?”
“One of bwana Danny’s one of bwana Luke’s
that he gave to the European who looks after the cars, and one of the small bwana who walks like a baboon,” Japhet replied promptly. “I do not know about that of the memsahib of the bird. Those of the memsahib who has died, of the young
memsahib and of her father, bwana Lordi, were all clean.”
“Did any European call for cleaning materials from the bearers?”
Japhet shook his head. “No, bwana. Only this
memsahib” — he pointed at Chris with his chin —
no
“sent her boy for a tin of gun-oil.”
“My Revelation suitcase jammed,” Chris
explained. “You know, the part that slides. I sent for some 3-in-l to oil it,”
“This missing gun may be important,” Vachell
said. “I’m going to search the camp right now. If some one used a gun to-day, and then found he couldn’t clean it, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to conceal the gun.”
A thorough search through native quarters, the white folk’s tents, the cars, the lorries, and even the bush and trees around the camp yielded
nothing. Lord Baradale himself could give no
help. He couldn’t remember, he said, when he
had last seen the rifle, and he seemed indifferent as to whether or not it was found. He was silent and preoccupied, and answered only in grunts and mumbles.
It was nearly eleven o’clock before the fruitless search ended, and Vachell and de Mare joined
Chris Davis at the table under the acacia. The rain had cleared off for the time being and the clouds had retreated, leaving the sky to the vast and silent company of stars. The veldt beyond the river
seemed to stretch forever until it was swallowed by a dark and invisible horizon.
Vachell poured
only way we can escape from them is to become one of them ourselves. Englebrecht’s the only member of this outfit who’s got the right idea… .
What is it, Japhet?”
The gun-bearer stood at attention in the tent opening, his thickskinned black face immobile and his body rigid. He had come to make his
evening report. It was a habit he had carried over from a period of his life when, as a police askari, he had accompanied district officers on their tours. De Mare nodded and he recited in a chant: “News of the camp, bwana. I have counted here 8 Europeans, 36 black men, 18 motor-cars, 10
tents for Europeans, 9 tents for black men, 24
cases of petrol, two tents full of stores, one aeroplane, 16 guns, 26 bags of maize flour, 17 bags of
rice, and 18 aides.”
De Mare frowned and glanced up at the askari, standing in the opening as solidly as a chunk of basalt rock.
“How many guns?” he asked
“Sixteen, including three for birds. That is two fewer than before. Bwana Luke took three away, but this new bwana brought two more.”
“One is missing, then?”
“One belonging to bwana Lordi. Douglas, the
gun-bearer who looks after bwana Lordi, does not know where it has gone. There are three guns
belonging to bwana Lordi. Douglas cleaned them all two days ago, but he did not touch them today since the bwana did not use any of them. To109
night, when he went to make the tally, one was gone from bwana Lordi’s tent.”
“Just a moment.” Vachell said. “Who keeps the cleaning materials belonging to all of the guns in camp?”
“The gun-bearers do,” de Mare replied. “Japhet here looks after mine. Englebrecht has his own boy. The Baradales share a bearer called Douglas.
Catchpole has one called Suya, and Cara has a fellow named Harrison. Chris looks after her own weapons.”
“Could one of the Europeans clean his own gun without the bearers knowing?”
De Mare shook his head. “He’d have to ask the bearers for the materials,” he said, “unless of course he’d kept a pull-through or a ramrod and some oil concealed somewhere on purpose.”
Vachell spoke direct to Japhet. “Which guns
were used today?”
“One of bwana Danny’s one of bwana Luke’s
that he gave to the European who looks after the cars, and one of the small bwana who walks like a baboon,” Japhet replied promptly. “I do not know about that of the memsahib of the bird. Those of the memsahib who has died, of the young
memsahib and of her father, bwana Lordi, were all clean.”
“Did any European call for cleaning materials from the bearers?”
Japhet shook his head. “No, bwana. Only this
memsahib” — he pointed at Chris with his chin —
no
“sent her boy for a tin of gun-oil.”
“My Revelation suitcase jammed,” Chris
explained. “You know, the part that slides. I sent for some 3-in-l to oil it,”
“This missing gun may be important,” Vachell
said. “I’m going to search the camp right now. If some one used a gun to-day, and then found he couldn’t clean it, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to conceal the gun.”
A thorough search through native quarters, the white folk’s tents, the cars, the lorries, and even the bush and trees around the camp yielded
nothing. Lord Baradale himself could give no
help. He couldn’t remember, he said, when he
had last seen the rifle, and he seemed indifferent as to whether or not it was found. He was silent and preoccupied, and answered only in grunts and mumbles.
It was nearly eleven o’clock before the fruitless search ended, and Vachell and de Mare joined
Chris Davis at the table under the acacia. The rain had cleared off for the time being and the clouds had retreated, leaving the sky to the vast and silent company of stars. The veldt beyond the river
seemed to stretch forever until it was swallowed by a dark and invisible horizon.
Vachell poured
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