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The crocodile was nearly broadside on to him; and even at that distance he could see the scaly armour covering head, back and sides, that would defy any bullet. The unprotected spot behind the shoulder was hidden from him; the only vulnerable part was the neck. Wargrave laid his cheek to the butt and sighted on this.
Wargrave seems to be the favourite. They are staying at the same hotel; and everyone says they are engaged." Then the writer went on to talk of family matters. But Violet read no more. Her eyes flamed with anger as she crumpled the paper up, flung it on the floor and stamped it under foot. She paced the room angrily, tearing the lace handkerchief she held in her hands to shreds.
We want a change from tinned Army rations and the tough ould hins that these benighted haythins call chickens." "Yes, you'll be a Godsend to us if you're a good shot, Wargrave," added the Commandant. "We never get meat here unless someone shoots a stag or a buck in the jungle; and for that we generally have to rely on Dermot.
Dermot appeared at the office door. "May I come in, Kevin?" she began. "Oh, good morning, Mr. Wargrave. A coolie has arrived from the peelkhana to say that Mr. and Miss Benson and Mr. Carter are on their way up and will be here soon. So you'll meet them at tea. You will like Miss Benson. She's a dear girl." "Thanks very much, Mrs. Dermot.
"Hallo! are we near a village, sir?" asked Wargrave, surprised at the familiar sounds so far in the heart of the wild. "No; those are jungle-fowl," whispered the Political Officer. "Get your gun ready." He halted the elephant and picked up his fowling-piece. Frank hurriedly substituted a shot cartridge for the one loaded with ball in his gun.
He gazed after it for a few moments, then raised his hand. At the welcome signal all dashed off after the boar at a furious gallop, opening out as they went to give play for their spears. Wild with excitement, Wargrave struck spurs to his horse, which needed no urging, being as filled with the lust of the chase as was the man on its back.
The subaltern spoke lightly to re-assure them. "Nothing much, I expect. Some man on guard fooling with his rifle let it off by accident," he said quietly. "Excuse me. I'd better stroll across to the Fort and see." But Mrs. Dermot stopped him. "Wait a moment please, Mr. Wargrave," she said, running into the house.
Early on the following afternoon Wargrave borrowed Raymond's bamboo cart and pony for he had sold his own trap and horses before going on leave to England and had not yet had time to buy new ones and drove to the Residency.
Then turning to the girl again, he continued, "Aren't you ashamed av yourself for laving me to pine for a sight av ye all these weary months?" Miss Benson could claim to be Irish on her mother's side and so was a ready-witted match for the doctor's Celtic exuberance; though to Wargrave watching it seemed that Burke's easy banter cloaked a deeper feeling.
Then, groaning in their powerlessness to aid their beloved officer, they listened, as a light danced over the stones from a lantern in the hand of a running sepoy. The moment it came and lit up the scene they rushed on the murderer wrestling fiercely with Wargrave and dragged him off as the subaltern collapsed and fell to the ground. The glare of the lantern shone on his white face.
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